


My Life, My Way

by YurikoNeko (AlaxxisSade)



Series: KKM: Someday We Will Get There [3]
Category: Kyou Kara Maou!
Genre: Abortion, Angst with a Happy Ending, Canon - Book, Fluff and Angst, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Mild Smut, Miscarriage, Mpreg, One-Sided Relationship, Unplanned Pregnancy, or a pitiful attempt at smut, some of the above tags are trolls
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-03
Updated: 2014-12-23
Packaged: 2018-02-28 00:45:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 18
Words: 36,939
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2712755
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AlaxxisSade/pseuds/YurikoNeko
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Yozak Gurrier lives his life, his way. And he won't let anyone take that away from him, not even that dashing childhood friend and captain of his.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Calm Before the Storm (?)

**Author's Note:**

> So I had some fun with the tags~
> 
> Also, this is my first time attempting smut, please tell me if I'm doing it right!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gotta enjoy it while we can, because my instincts are telling me the shit is going to hit the fan in three, two...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Short chapter to start, it'll (hopefully) (probably) get longer~

Lord Conrart Weller is a very popular man*.

                Why shouldn’t he be? He’s good-looking, excellent with the sword, kind, considerate. Plus, that scar above his eye tells everyone who didn’t already know that the Lion of Lutternberg is not as tame as he lets on these days. And if there’s one good thing about being of mixed blood, it’s that racial boundaries don’t matter much to him. This is, after all, the man who once dated a maid-mer princess*.

                But Lord Conrart Weller is also a gentleman, and gentlemen don’t pressure some matters on their girlfriends before marriage.

                That’s why, even though the Captain has had loads of girlfriends, I believe that only I can call myself his lover.

                Or, to use the field term, his fuck-buddy.

                “Yozak…”

                “Patience, Captain,” I laugh, though my voice comes out rather hoarse. Gentlemen are still men, after all, and all men have those needs. Like I once told His Majesty, sometimes soldiers had to take the opportunity whenever it came*. It’s something only soldiers understood, and just when I’d almost forgotten that the former Little Lord Brat, current new Prince Consort is a soldier too, he’d done us this great favor of putting us in the same cabin on his honeymoon cruise. “No one will disturb us here. We have all the time in the world.”

                “Don’t say that, you’ll only jinx it.” He’s smiling, but the flecks of silver in his warm brown eyes are reflecting the feral desire in mine. Yep, the Lion of Luttenberg definitely hasn’t lost his touch.

                Words don’t serve much of a purpose in the soldier way of doing things. It’s all about speed, efficiency, safety. The faster we get done what needs to be done, the sooner we can go back to focusing on our survival. It’s every soldier’s nightmare, getting caught in enemy fire with his pants down—or so I told His Majesty*. Well, I was joking, but it’s true that most of us don’t have the luxury of time, and even in these peaceful times, even though the Young Master had promised to create a world where we could take our time without worrying about life-and-death situations twenty-four-seven, old habits die hard. In no time at all we’re clawing away at each other’s clothes, our mouths lapping into one another hungrily, fiercely.

                There is no tenderness, no foreplay. And definitely no love.

                He feels hard against my stomach, and beneath the waves of pleasure and desire I feel a small stab of pity. How long has he last had this? Whenever His Majesty is around, Lord Weller dedicates all his time and effort to his charge’s safety. And ever since the young man discovered his feelings for Lord von Bielefelt were reciprocated after all, he’s been very reluctant to leave his fiancé— _no_ , I correct myself, _his newlywed husband._

                It’s going to be hard to call the third son ‘Your Highness’ again from now on.

                “Gurrier,” Conrad growls, bringing me back to reality. “Stop thinking. Start fucking.”

                I sigh inwardly, but what comes out is a moan of pleasure when he grabs me roughly. As a matter of personal preference, I never do wear anything down there*. So it’s definitely not because the people I have sex with have no patience for even those tiny things the nobles favor so much.

                The Captain has a more moderate taste in undergarments, but it’s nothing I can’t deal with. When it comes to clothing, he places quantity over quality anyway. He probably has a dozen pairs of clean underwear rolled up somewhere in his suitcase right now.

                So I throw sophistication out the window and tear the fabric to shreds with my teeth.

                “Someone was saying something about patience?” he chuckles, but his eyes are wild and dark. I wonder if, just like me, he is thinking of our first time, in an army regulation tent after our first real battle. We had killed and watch others be killed, and that night, the thought of being alone with our nightmares was scarier than death itself.

                We were friends, brothers-in-arms. Comrades. And everything else be damned, comrades help each out.

                I wrap my mouth around him, working his length methodically with my tongue. He’s completely stiff—after going so long without a decent fuck, a mouthjob won’t be enough to wind him down.

                Well, lucky for him, I’m feeling rather charitable tonight.

                “Your turn,” I say simply, leaning onto the wall for him. “And make it quick, because I hear someone at the door.”

                “Yozak…”

                “Do you wanna fuck me or not?” I drawl lazily. For someone who was so decisive on the battlefield, he tended to hesitate at the weirdest times during sex. Must come with being a gentleman. Thank goodness I’m not one. “If you refuse this time, who knows when that kid will slow down enough for you to catch your breath again? And I’m not doing this for free, y’know. Next time I top.”

                It takes another few precious seconds, but eventually he takes me up on my offer, his touch unnecessarily gentle as he prepares me.

                “Where’s the--”

                “No need,” I hasten him, “Whoever’s outside, it sounds urgent. Unless of course you’ve picked up anything dangerous since the last time we went at it?”

                “Yozak, you know I--”

                “Yeah, well, neither have I. So I suggest you get it done before that guy outside rams the door down.” I pause. “Bet you five it’s your baby brother.”

                “I’m not going to place a bet I know I’ll lose.” And then, finally, he shuts up and enters me.

He wastes no time cleaning up, washing himself down with the practiced moves of one used to bathing in streams or from wells. His spare uniform is waiting for him on the very top of his luggage bag, and within five minutes Lord Conrart Weller is back and ready for action.

                “Not coming?” He cocks his eyebrow at me, the scar glowing white in the lamplight.

                “Nah, nine per ten the person they want is you.” I curl into the covers contentedly. “If they need me, you can always give me a holler. If it’s you, Captain, you know I’ll at least consider.”

                He smiles faintly, and before I have time be surprised, he brushes his lips across my forehead and quickly opens the door, blocking the visitor’s view of me with his body.

                After just a moment’s confusion, I duck back into the blankets, though I can’t help but touch my head where his heat still lingers.

                He’s… never done that before. I’m not sure what to think of it.

                But why is it that I have such a bad feeling?

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As some might have noticed, the notes for the first chapter can only be added AFTER posting the second chapter, so here's some belated backstory:
> 
> 1\. Not sure if it's in the anime, but a maid-mer is the exact opposite of a mermaid. Yes, that's right, our Conrad dated a fish with legs. Have fun with that image.
> 
> 2\. In one short story Yuuri asked Yozak what kind of underwear he wore (he imagined something girlier lol), and well... xD It was a joke, of course, and Yozak notes that only Yuuri can get so serious talking about men's underwear.
> 
> 3\. Bonus info: Yozak once played strip rock-paper-scissors with Gwendal, telling him it's 'night baseball'. Apparently all he had to say to get Gwen interested was 'that's what His Majesty likes' XD And then he cheated, so that he kept stripping and stripping and finally reveals... a leaf. His invention, plant underwear O.O 
> 
> There really are a lot of... fun images when Yozak is around... Darn I just realized this fic is getting too dark for someone so fabulous...


	2. A Matter of Perspective

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What doesn't kill you, makes you stronger. Until, of course, it comes back for another shot.
> 
> That which is both a weakness and a strength, forgive me if I want nothing to do with it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The first few chapters might be a bit shorter and slower, but it'll pick up soon, I swear!

As it turns out, my instincts were right. But the one in danger isn’t Conrad, it’s his brother.

                Young Lord Wolfram von Bielefelt is pregnant, just three months after his wedding to the king. How the two brats actually went about it notwithstanding, there are a lot of risks attached with carrying the Maou’s child, risks His clueless Majesty didn’t know before he went and knocked Wolfram up.

                And His Highness the Prince Consort, who did know about these risks, dragged the Captain with him to quell an uprising anyway.

                To be honest, I’m not the least surprised when we arrive at the von Bielefelt castle to find that he had accepted and won a duel, only to be grievously hurt in the process.

                “Oh, goodness…” Lord von Christ’s healer daughter gasps when she sees the blood on the ground. I’m no healer myself, but I know an injury when I see it. After losing so much blood, it’d be nothing short of a miracle if Wolfram still has the child. His Majesty knows it too, but he just doesn’t want to admit it, poor thing.

                “Your Majesty, I’m afraid that I’m in no state to welcome you properly--”

                I frown at the Prince Consort’s uncle, brandishing my weapon in a half-hearted attempt at a warning. Only those who know the king personally understand that underneath that docile, pacifist exterior, there’s a monster waiting to be unleashed on anyone who hurts what’s really important to him.

                And I’m pretty sure his husband and unborn kid top that list.

                _“Your Majesty!”_

Interesting as it would have been to see the Maou kill one of those obnoxious nobles for once, I’m glad that Lord Weller interrupts us when he does. Lord Waltrana von Bielefelt definitely deserved whatever the Young Master wanted to do to him, but it wouldn’t be fair for the boy to have to deal with the guilt of murdering his uncle-in-law later, especially not after losing his child, and quite possibly his husband along with it.

                When I lift my gaze and see exactly how shaken Conrad is, that possibility becomes a probability.

                “Your Majesty… Please, help him!”

                The Captain doesn’t beg. The Lion of Luttenberg never begs. But he’s coming close, since it concerns his precious baby brother.

                Wolfram is more than just a brother to him, he had confessed to me once, when we were both a little tipsy on human ale. He had helped deliver the little tyke, after all. When Wolf was small, he used to run around behind Conrad, yelling, “Littwe Big Bwotha!” The smile the second son has on his face whenever he reminisces about those days is always nostalgic, affectionate, a little silly, and a tiny bit sad.

                _He only calls me that when he needs something these days_ , he said back then, draining his mug and sounding resentful.

                Now, when we burst into the Little Lord Brat’s chambers, the look on Lord Weller’s face says that he fears his brother may never call him anything ever again.

                “His Highness is using his magic to sustain the child, but at this rate—at this rate--!”

                Now, why does that sound familiar? I sneak a peek at my childhood friend. Yup, that’s the face of a man whose past has returned to haunt him. Or rather, a soldier whose ghosts have never left.

                “Then make it stop.” Since everyone else here is too personally involved to see the obvious answer, I have to be the bad guy. “Knock him out.”

                “I can’t…” The girl is a professional, but she’s still a girl. And girls tended to be sentimental about this kind of thing. “If I do, he’ll lose the child!”

                “If he dies, we’ll lose both of them. In fact, it’s a miracle we haven’t already.” They should be glad we made it in time. Miracles don’t last forever. “If you don’t want His Majesty to become a widower before his honeymoon is even over, _do it now_.”

                There’s truth in my words, and she knows it. Compared to a fetus barely three months old, a soldier of Lord von Bielefelt’s caliber is much more valuable to the country. It would only make sense to kill the child and save its mother. If you wanted to be sentimental about it, you could even say that that’s what the kid would want. Not that it could think for itse—

                “It can’t be…”

                “What is it, Giesela? Tell me!”

                “The baby… The baby is fighting back. It’s using its own magic to keep His Highness alive!”

                “That can’t be!” Conrad echoes my own disbelieving thoughts. “The child shouldn’t have magic, it shouldn’t have a soul yet--!”

                And yet, it is what it is. The baby has a soul. It can think. And it’s decided to save its mother, at the cost of its own life.

                “--The two types of magic are wreaking havoc inside His Highness’ body. If they keep on like this, both of them will--”

                There’s nothing I can do now, nothing any of us can do. All I can think is, What a shame. We’ve lost men to something like this before—not as many as we’ve lost to a human sword, but quite a few anyway. Who knew it would happen to a man as young and as promising as Lord von Bielefelt?

                “…Your Majesty!”

                Just when I start worrying about the young king’s mental state, he surprises us all by brushing away the healer’s hands and laying his own on his husband’s stomach. The third son is obviously in a lot of pain, looking closer and closer to death with each strangled breath, but then the king’s hands begin to glow, his magic warm and soothing, cleansing the bloody air.

                My eyes widen as Wolfram’s bleeding stops, and color gradually returns to his face. His angelic features, just a while ago contorted in pain, start to relax. By the time His Majesty takes his hands away from the former prince’s stomach to caress his face, Lord von Bielefelt simply looks like he’s sleeping, perhaps even having pleasant dreams.

                Then the double black king collapses next to his husband.

                “Your Majesty—!”

                Conrad immediately panics, but I hold him back as Giesela takes our liege’s pulse. “Don’t worry, Lord Weller, His Majesty is merely sleeping. The exertion of having to untangle both His Highness’ and the child’s maryoku, as well as the pressure of everything he went through caught up with him, that’s all. What all of them need now is a good rest, and time will take care of everything else.”

                There’s relief written plainly on both their faces, and I suppose I should be happy too. But there’s something bothering me. It’s a happy ending—for now. I don’t like the way Lord von Bielefelt was willing to risk his life for someone who barely existed. And I don’t like how something as fragile as an unborn child has so much power over the 27th Maou-heika’s emotions.

                “Giesela… What does it mean? The child having a soul, will it endanger His Highness?”

                She is taken aback by my sudden question, the coolness of my tone. “Y-yes, I suppose it does. From now on, His Highness will have to carefully balance both souls in his body. One mistake, and both their lives are in grave danger.”

                “I see.” It’s as I feared. Good thing that both His Majesty and His Highness are out cold now, then. “If so, you had better hurry before--”

                “Gurrier.” The Captain’s hand is on my shoulder, his grip tight and his voice taut. “Outside. _Now_.”

               The healer looks confused, but I know that once she calms down, the Sergeant in her will know what I meant to say. So I shrug off her perplexed gaze, and follow my former Captain out of the room.

                Conrad closes the door carefully behind him, and then in one quick movement, he has me pinned against the wall. “Don’t you ever _dare_ suggest that again, especially not to Yuuri and Wolfram. Do you hear me, Gurrier?!”

                “Loud and clear.” His eyes are burning with a rage I thought existed only on the battlefield, or when his godson is in mortal danger. And mine are cool—cold, even, dousing his fire before it can scald me. “But before you start giving me orders, Lord Weller, you had better take a look at yourself in the mirror. If you lose your calm like this over a fetus that doesn’t even have a name yet, how can you be expected to put His Majesty’s safety over everything else?”

                “Don’t call it that!” he hisses angrily. “That’s Yuuri and Wolfram’s child—my niece or nephew! Are you threatening my family, Gurrier?!”

                Family… That’s it, isn’t it? That’s why everyone else is losing their heads, and I’m the only one unnaturally calm. Cruel, you could say.

                “So having a family can throw even the great Lion of Lutenberg off so badly? Or are they your weak point, or your motivation?” My voice comes out slightly bitter. “I wouldn’t know—I’ve forgotten what it’s like to have a family.”

                My father was a Mazoku traveler who just happened to take a fancy to my mother, a human woman. As punishment for ‘siding with the Demons’, she and I were taken to concentration camps in Big Shimaron, and stayed there until Lord Dunheely Weller took us to the Shin Makoku when I was 12. Hard work at the mines had taken a toll on her already weak body, and even before my mother died relatively young, I was never particularly close to her.

                “Yozak…”

                I shake my head and pat Conrad’s shoulder. “I get it. Appreciate them.”

                His family means everything to him, I understand that. The same goes for His Majesty, and especially Wolfram. I spend the next half a month carefully watching His Highness, noting the way his pregnancy is slowly changing his body, and after he wakes, how being an expectant mother changes his personality. His Majesty, too—the prospect of being parents seems to mature them considerably in a very short time.

                Their family keeps them together, makes them strong, gives them a reason to fight. But it also weighs them down, stresses them out, and quite honestly, it’s not for me. I’ve long accepted that.

                Watching from the corner as Conrad pesters the young king into accepting some help in managing the von Bielefelt territory, I laugh to myself—or perhaps, at myself.

                His Majesty had put me personally in charge of His Highness’ safety, so by now I’m well versed in all the signs and symptoms of a Mazoku pregnancy.

                That’s why, two months after our detour from the honeymoon cruise, I recognize them instantly when they start showing up on me as well.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So the story continues, parallel with Your Father's Child. I try to tie the stories together as much as possible, but please overlook a hole here or there ^^' 
> 
> Also, although the themes are similar, I'm planning on making the stories as fresh and as different as possible, don't worry :3


	3. Mission: Impossible

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Don't try to persuade me. There are some things I just can't do.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The new character introduced here isn't an OC! But she's not strictly canon either...

“Gurrier-san, you…”

                Jenna’s expression of shock confirms what I already know. I pull my shirt back over my stomach, feeling a little impressed at just how calmly I’m taking this. “Come on, Jen, I know I’m prettier than you’ll ever be, but you can stop ogling at me now.”

                The little girl I knew since I was a teen just turned eighty-nine, but she looks older. She’s not pretty by any standards, with a body not unlike a sturdy round glass bottle, her shoulder-length hair more brown than blonde. But what she lacked in elegance, she made up for with pure, radiant health, and a heart so warm it shone. His Majesty would recognize her as the ‘pressed goat milk’ lady from that time he took me out for a stroll around town*-- what I never told him is that she’s also the person the townspeople go for folk remedies to when they can’t afford those expensive healers uptown.

                “But, Gurrier-san… Have you told Lord Weller?”

                I keep my face impassive. “Conrad? Why should I?”

                “You—I mean, your condition now…” She takes a deep breath, bright eyes filled with worry. “He has to take you off duty, for a year at least.”

                “One, I don’t report to him anymore—I report to his brother.” I stretch lazily, wandering over to the shelves for a cup of pressed goat milk and, if I’m lucky, the old man’s stash of beer. “Two, the most I’ll take is a week or two off, until my body recovers.” Great, there’s a can right here. I take a swig from it, tasting the fizzy bitterness on my tongue. “I want you to help me get rid of it.”

                “G— _What do you think you’re doing?!_ ” She angrily snatches the alcohol out of my hands. “What do you mean, get rid of it?! Do you know how hard it is for Mazoku men to conceive? It’s even harder for mixed-bloods like you—If you don’t cherish this one, you might never get another chance!”

                “I don’t need another chance—just like I don’t need this one.” I sigh inwardly. If it was possible, I didn’t want to put this heavy a burden on one so young. No matter how small or inconsequential, I’m still asking her to take away a life here. But there’s no way I can go to the castle healers, not unless I want His Majesty and then Conrad to find out about it. After the Seisakoku incident, they’ve been especially careful around me. If they hear about the—delicate situation I’m in, they’ll keep me under house arrest, just like they’re doing to Lord von Bielefelt.

                I remember the look of crushing boredom on the third son’s face last I saw him, and shudder. No way am I letting that happen to me.

                “Besides, you know I can barely take care of myself as it is. It’s impossible for me to feed an extra mouth, so why let another innocent person suffer?”

                “Gurrier-san!”

              “I’m only two months along, there’s plenty of time. But these things are better done as soon as possible, right, so--”

                “Listen to me, Gurrier-san!” She grabs my arm with all the force of a Mazoku woman who’s had to work for a living. She’s not as strong as, say, Anissina, but her hands are more calloused, the mark of effort and experience. “Have you told the father? Maybe he can help you, maybe you can raise the child together! In any case, he deserves to know before you make such a drastic decision!”

                “I would tell him,” I drawl as I gently pry her fingers open and head for the door. “If only I knew who he was.”

                “I don’t believe-- Hey, come back---!”

                “I will, tomorrow,” I promise without turning back, sauntering down the lawn and raising my hand in acknowledgment. “I have one last mission, then I’ll come see you again tomorrow night. You’d better be prepared, doctor!”

                Physically as well as mentally, I add silently. I’m being cruel again, and selfish, by asking such a young girl to do this for me. But my mind is made up, and in the long term, I know that this is for the best.

                This is all just an accident, an unlucky coincidence. The sooner I end it, the sooner I can go back to my normal life.

                The sooner I can go back to focusing on surviving.

 

“What are you doing here?”

                Conrad looks a bit taken aback by my tone, but he recovers quickly. “His Majesty’s consulting the people. I just figured I’d be more useful here.”

                Oh, right, today’s the day the rookie king gets to meet and greet his subjects, listening to their problems and hearing out their opinions and whatnot. “But as his personal guard, shouldn’t you be there in case one of the grannies brings in a rifle or something?”

                The second son starts looking sheepish. “Yuuri said he saw someone he knew, so he asked me to watch over Wolfram for him instead.”

                “And the Little Lord Brat?”

                “Threw pillows at me when I refused to let him go out.”

                I can’t say I blame him. In fact, I had half a mind to toss something slightly more deadly than goose-down pillows at the Captain myself right now.

                “Gurrier?” he asks cautiously. “Something happened? You look… pissed.”

                Yes, well, so would you if you just spent the whole morning hurling into the basin. At least normally I’d get a good drink out of it the night before, but no, alcohol is strictly off limits—until after tonight.

                “Was it… something I did?”

               Yes, my brain hisses. “No,” I sigh. It’s not his fault— If anything, I only had myself to blame, for not using protection. I just didn’t think… but even though I know it’s completely unreasonable, I still feel this seething annoyance just by looking at him.

                See? That’s why I can’t keep it. I’ve faced war, death and destruction thousand times over, but nothing scares me as much as not being in control of my own body, my own emotions. My own life.

                Never mind, I just have to hold out until tonight.

                 “So what’s the mission?”

                “I’m not sure either, Gwendal just handed me this document.” Lord Weller unfurls a rolled-up parchment, and his expression gets steadily stormier as he reads it. “This--”

                “Now I’m curious.” I peek over his shoulder. “Oh, this type again.”

                “Yozak, don’t tell me you—he--”

                I keep my face straight, but if I have to hold in my laughter any longer I think I might actually damage something. “Sure, I do this all the time. Given, I normally do operations like this alone, but since Lord Weller so kindly offered to help me today, I can always use the help. After all,” I wink at him seductively, “Two asses is always better than one~”

                Today, my orders are to track down a panty thief. The catch is, he likes to take them directly from under the girls’ skirts.

 

When the second son steps out from the changing room, I resist the urge to whistle. Instead, I fan myself with my fake nails and bat my long lashes.

                “Oh, my, aren’t you a precious little thing~?”

                He grits his teeth in a way that’ll leave him with dentures before he’s 200. “Not a word of this to anyone, got it, Gurrier?”

                “Who _are_ you talking about? Right now, I’m Gurie-chan~” I giggle gracefully. “That’s what His Majesty calls me, anyway.*” I swear, that line works on everyone.

                “Gu--” He takes a deep breath, blowing strands of the blonde wig away from his face. “Okay, whatever. Let’s just get this over with.”

                “Whatever you say, Connie~”

                “C-Co--” His eye starts twitching. Perhaps I should stop before he gets a full-on seizure?

                Honestly, I had no idea why he would suddenly volunteer to help me out. Could it be because His Majesty is getting more independent now? Was he feeling the empty-nest syndrome, like those pathetic parents who retire to a corner drawing circles on the ground after their kids tell them, ‘I’m all grownup now!’? Or maybe the idea of getting a god-grandson soon makes him feel old, and so he wants to prove that he can still perform on the field?

                If Lord Weller never settles down, I guess he can say he already raised a son in His Majesty. If he never starts a family of his own, I’m sure he’ll fit right in with his baby brother’s.

                “Hey, Cap? After this, I’m taking a week off. Just to give you a heads-up.”

                “…Okay.” He doesn’t pry—Just because we shared everything from beds to toothpaste on the battlefield doesn’t mean he doesn’t respect my privacy. And it’s all because of these goddamned hormones that I feel a little upset he didn’t at least try to ask. “So Gurrier…-chan, where do we go now?”

                I open the floral fan that came with my silk cheongsam, hiding my grin. “The place where women willingly pull down their panties, of course.”

                I’m not sure if Lord Weller ever frequented the seedy downtown brothels, but even if he did, I’m fairly certain he never used the back entrance. The lady in charge and I go a long way back, and she’s as anxious to catch the perp as we are. He has attacked at every brothel house except this one, so her girls are starting to freak out. It doesn’t take much to convince her to rent us a couple of rooms-- and after that, all that’s left to do is wait.

                It’s a flimsy plan, I know. Investigations have shown that he comes in around this time in the week, but there’s no way to tell if he’ll come in tonight. In a way, I’m glad Conrad tagged along today. I haven’t told Lord von Voltaire yet that if the operation today doesn’t succeed, I won’t be able to try again for at least a week. Maybe I could ask the second son to take my place for a while-- in exchange for some benefits after I recover, of course.

                The door creaks open slowly, waking me from my thoughts. When the short, balding middle-aged man lets himself into the room, I’m already in bed, the slit on my dress revealing a great deal of my thighs, just short of the pantyline. When he doesn’t give my considerably long legs a second look, I know that I got the right guy.

                I don’t say anything, just beckon him forth with a crooked finger and a lusty smile. He’s practically drooling as he approaches me, taking his time and letting me appraise him. Hmm, he doesn’t look particularly strong or athletic. Reports say the biggest problem in catching him red-handed is his remarkable speed and agility. A sewer rat, they concluded, because he seems to know his way around all the city’s nooks and crannies.

                I pride myself in being an expert on the capital’s layout as well, but I figured I might as well grab him before he can run and save us all the trouble.

                Once he’s within range, I throw my huge arms around over his shoulders, batting my lashes at him. Even though his gaze in on my face, I can feel his fingers trail up my thigh, get under my skirt—

                “Disappointed? I thought most guys like it when I don’t bother with the underwear.”

                Alarm darts across his face—he knows that I’m onto him. But before I can reach underneath my top for the cuffs, he grabs my arm and, displaying a strength I never would have expected, takes me off balance, slamming my body into the ground.

               My breath is knocked out of me, pain flaring from some unlikely places. But I have no time to worry about that now, because he is ducking out of the balcony and into the night.

                “Yozak, I heard a--!”

                “That way!” I hiss through the pain, and without glancing back at my reinforcements, I give chase.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, about 'Jenna'. Because there's not a lot of concrete details about Yozak's personal life, I kinda took a bit, unnamed character and expanded a little (a lot). She appears in the short story about Yozak recovering from his zombie-fication, and these are the few facts mentioned:
> 
> 1\. The physical description I took nearly word for word. Yuuri says she looks slightly older than him.  
> 2\. She runs a shop selling 'pressed goat's milk' (it's supposed to be an ecchi joke lol) and caters to Yozak's crossdressing bar.  
> 3\. Her father knew Yozak since he was very young --apparently the older man (he's actually 120+, but time in the human lands aged him faster-- and saw Yozak's first attempt at crossdressing. Not very good, it seems :3
> 
> So yeah, I'll be taking some liberties with this character, you can think of her as an OC if you want~


	4. What the Heart Says

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You didn't mean it, I know you didn't. You just don't know what to do, right? You're scared, because you're lost. You just want things to go back to the way they were.
> 
> They won't. But I know you'll be fine.
> 
> Because you're also a fighter.

They weren’t kidding when they said he knew his way around the city. If Anissina were here, she would probably say something like, “Aha! The deftness with which he makes his escape is proof enough of his guilt, that slimy good-for-nothing man!” With added emphasis on the last word, of course.

                He slips under barricades, through fences, into holes in walls I thought only cats used.

                “So that’s why they’re called ‘cat’ burglars.” Lord Weller sounds pleasantly surprised, though whether he’s seriously impressed or just happy with his own bad joke I can’t tell. By the way, can you not make lame puns even on a high speed chase? He’s not even out of breath!

                His gaze turns solemn when he catches me glaring, avoiding a clothesline on instinct alone. “Yozak, are you tired already? That’s unlike you.”

                Yeah, yeah, you don’t have to tell me. Normally the two of us are equals in strength and stamina, with his skill being sword-fighting and mine espionage.  We say we don’t keep score, but last I checked, he had the advantage at 102 to 101.

                So I push away the growing sense of weakness in my limbs and dash ahead of him.

                The thief may be agile, but I have an insurmountable upper hand when it came to size. Can’t squeeze under that barricade? Knock it down. Can’t get through the crack in that fence? Tear it open. Hole in the wall too small?

                I vault over the wall, ignoring the increasingly annoying stabs of pain.

                “Hey, Gurrier, slow down!”

                As if I’d listen. I perch on top of the fifth wall, squinting through the darkness to where the target is struggling with a hidden door. Conrad is just a step behind me, but the wall isn’t wide enough for both of us. Before he can start looking for another way up, though, I bunch up my leg muscles and launch myself ten feet down and twenty ahead, using my prey to cushion my fall.

                “Yozak!”

               Within seconds Captain is by my side, offering me his hand when it becomes obvious I’m not getting up on my own. The thief is out cold, his small and bony body not nearly absorbing as much of the impact as I’d hoped it would. My head is ringing, my legs hurt like hell, and…

                “Yozak… is that blood?”

                “No, it’s red tea.” I roll my eyes, grabbing his hand to pull myself to my feet, and immediately the pain hits me in the stomach like I’ve been sucker-punched by a tank. Well, damn…

                “But I don’t understand, when did you--”

                “Probably scraped my leg on the fencing somewhere.” I got to get out of here before he notices that the blood is coming from _between_ my legs, and there’s not a scratch anywhere on my dress. But then again, those are the perks of wearing a cheongsam with slits so high the skirt may as well be two flaps of cloth. Ugh, getting blood stains out of silk is a pain…

                “You should see a healer--”

                “Thanks for the brilliant advice, Your Eminence. Now it just so happens that I’ve an appointment with my doctor…” I glance at my watch, a present from His Majesty, “…right now. Do you think you could take this guy in for me? I’d rather not give her nightmares by showing up looking like a whore.”

                It’s an excuse. Jenna has seen me in drag tons of times—her father was there laughing at me the first time I cross-dressed*. And actually, the dress might be even more convenient for whatever it is she had to do.

                But for some reason, I don’t really want Conrad to look at me now, and I’m glad when he silently carts away our catch, turning back just once to give me a worried look.

                I grin at him, waving and wondering for a second just how long it’ll take for him to realize he’s still wearing my black cocktail dress. Then he turns around the corner and my smile slips, my hand instinctively dropping to press my throbbing abdomen.

                Okay, so what now? Was there still any point in going to Jenna? Well, duh, I scold myself. There’s a procedure to these things… probably. Instead of relying on my hazy memories of that thick book Giesela forced me to read when I was guarding Wolfram, I had better leave this to the experts.

                And so, confident that the mama-san will not touch my clothes until I return for them, I head straight for Jenna’s house.

                She doesn’t notice me straight away, busying herself with something in the kitchen, so I lean onto the doorframe, closing my eyes for a while to catch my breath. Damn, it hurts… Now I know what Lord von Bielefelt was going through back at his castle. It’s not exactly the most painful thing I’ve felt –I still think nothing’s gonna beat a spear from the left shoulder to the right ribs, no matter what the women say-- but it’s… different. A dull, aching pain that seems to hurt deeper than just my stomach.

                Once it has subsided a bit, I crack open one eye to find Jenna staring at the blood on my dress in horror.

                “Hey, doc.” I even manage a smile, although my voice comes out—just a little—weak. “Sorry I’m late, but to make up for it, I think I may have done your job for you.”

 

She’s crying, I realize through my drug-induced haze.

                “Gurrier-san… _why_?”

                “Why…? Well, I was chasing this panty thief when--”

                _“You know that’s not what I meant!”_

If she had been born in one of the noble families, or joined the army, I think dazedly, maybe she could be one of the new Three Witches, alongside Giesela and Anissina. Or maybe it’s just that people naturally seem more intimidating when you’re incapacitated and your body, even the parts you don’t know about, is completely at their mercy.

                Funny how she can still seem scary with tears running down her face.

                _“Answer me, Yozak Gurrier!”_

Of course, it helps that those’re angry tears.

                I sigh, letting the painkillers take control. Jenna has some healing powers, but magic can’t heal everything. Her specialty is in medicines, just like Anissina’s is in poisons. She told me once that the line between them is a fine one, so I’d rather not get on her bad books.

                “Jenna, you know I never meant to keep it.”

                “Yes, but still! How could you—Why didn’t you take better care of yourself? How could you just let it… die? That’s your child in there!”

                Her words hit me like a slap, the words I had resolutely refused to acknowledge. My voice comes out harsher than I intended, as the drugs begin stripping me of my self-control. Damn, did I mention how much I hated that? “It’s not a child, Jen, and you know it. Right now it’s just a mass of meat sucking up my nutrients and driving me insane.”

                “For now, but later--”

                “There is no later,” I snap. “If you didn’t want to do it, fine. But now it’s gone, and if you’re really my friend, you’ll help me get through this without any side effects.” That reminds me. “There won’t be any side effects, will there? I promised Conrad I’d be back at work in a week.”

                “The only _side effect_ is that you might never conceive, ever again,” she spits at me furiously. “But you don’t care, do you? You don’t mind if you’re killing off this child, and every other child you might have in the future, because you’re a sick, selfish bastard!”

                I sigh again, this time waiting for the drugs to take me under. There’s no use in arguing with her any longer. No matter what she’s yelling now, I know that she will help me however she can. I trust her to.

                So for now I’ll sleep, and when I wake up everything will be back to normal. Then I can continue living my life the way I want to, without having to take responsibility for a new life I obviously don’t deserve.

*

“…Did you hear all of that? Your Majesty.”

                The double-black king steps out from the back of the kitchen, his young yet weary face flooded with tears. “Gurrier didn’t mean it, right, miss? He didn’t really want to kill--”

                How could he? Yuuri thinks of Wolfram, probably fast asleep in their bed now, one hand curled protectively over his swollen stomach. His beloved husband had put everything on the line to keep their unborn child safe, less than a day after finding out it existed. Less than a day, and already Wolf loved the baby more than his life. So how could Yozak…?

                “I’m sure he didn’t,” the village healer says quietly, covering her sleeping patient with a blanket. Now all she could do is hope the medicines do their job. “I let my emotions get the better of me there, both of us did. I think... no, I know that both of us said things we didn’t mean. I’m just sorry you had to hear it, ‘Majesty. And if he knew, he would be too.”

                She brushes Gurrier’s hair away from his face, stiffening for a moment when her hand touches his eyes. Then she relaxes, her face melting into a sad but gentle smile. “See?”

                There are tears on his long lashes, gleaming in the moonlight.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It gets happier, I swear! And Yuuri's appearances will be more or less like that :) I'll try to work more of him and the regular cast in, but as you might've noticed our main protagonist here is something of a lone wolf-- he definitely doesn't just hang around Covenant Castle like the rest of them, Yuuri usually only meets him outside, on missions xP


	5. Reload and Recovery

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Time will heal all wounds. I trust it to.
> 
> I need it to.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Is it just me, or are the summaries getting more dramatic as I go? O.o

“…this one’s for after meals, two of these before you sleep, don’t forget to drink more goat’s milk, oh, and this one goes under your pillow--”

                I had woken up stark naked, my cheongsam washed and hanging out to dry, my clothes retrieved from the brothel house and folded neatly by my pillow. I didn’t even have time to put them on, though, before my doctor noticed I was awake with her special doctor’s sixth sense, and so I had to listen to her rattle off a list of instructions longer than all my wigs put together as I struggled to put on my trousers.

                And now she’s dumping bottles of powders, pills, and what looks suspiciously like a boar’s tooth into my hands. I’m pretty sure the ‘tooth fairy’ that the Young Master talked about doesn’t work this way.

                “It’s for warding off bad spirits,” Jenna says in a tone that allows no arguing. “Your body is especially weak now, and susceptible to more or less anything. Do you hear me, Gurrier-san? If you don’t want any lasting effects, I suggest you follow everything I just said. And I mean _everything._ ”

                Well, thank goodness my line of work involves a lot of memorizing, then, because I don’t know how anyone else could possibly remember so much without ink and paper. “Yes, Sergeant!”

                “What?”

                “Sorry, habit.” I try to jump out of bed, but my knees are still feeling a bit wobbly. And then—

                Jenna pulls a wooden basin out of nowhere, handing it to me just in time.

                Five minutes later I’m wiping stomach acids off my mouth and resenting the world in general. “I thought these things should stop after…” My words trail off when she averts her gaze, her expression pained.

                “Your body doesn’t know it should stop yet. Give yourself some time…” she pauses, “…about one or two months. Then you’ll be fine.”

                “…Okay.” It’s a bit longer than I thought, but I wisely decide not to test her patience anymore. Hopefully Lord von Voltaire doesn’t have any big cases lined up for me. “I guess I’ll spend more time at the bar then, that okay?”

                She smiles sincerely for the first time today. “Then you could help me sell more of that fried pressed goat’s milk. I think I’ve finally got the thickness of the dough just right.”

                “Really?” I always liked her products, but suddenly the idea of the deep-fried delicacy makes me nauseous. Must be the medicine. Still, it wouldn’t hurt to stock up a bit. The customers seem particularly fond of having dessert at my place, though in my opinion, everything tastes good if it’s served by your type of guy in your type of dress.

                “I’ll stop by sometimes to check on you.” Her eyes meet mine, looking older than her years. It’s a bit unsettling to have the girl I let ride on my shoulders once upon a time look at me with the same gentleness I only vaguely remember receiving from my mother. “Maybe it’s good to have something else to distract you for now.”

               “Yeah, yeah, I’ll be a good little girl~” I pout at her, sticking out my tongue playfully. “Seriously , though, thanks, doc. I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

                “W-welcome.” Is it just me, or is she deliberately avoiding my gaze? “Remember, take care of yourself, and don’t anything stupid.”

                “Who, me?” I ruffle through my stuff until I find the small hand-mirror I carry around everywhere. Crap, are those eye bags?

                “For the sake of my complexion, I’ll listen to anything you say.”

                After all, an intelligence officer’s livelihood depends on his face*.

 

 “A month?”

                My superior’s frown gets deeper by the day, but his hard blue eyes soften a bit when he sees how pale I am. And this time I didn’t even have to put on any powder, heh. “Is it anything I should know about?”

                “Nah, it’ll blow over eventually.” From the way Jenna was talking, I got the feeling she wanted to say ‘half a year’ instead of a couple months, perhaps even longer, but I’m sure she’ll understand that I can’t afford that long a holiday. A month is my maximum. “Although if Your Excellency insists…”

                I shrug nonchalantly. A month is also her minimum. If within that month she stops by my shop and finds out that I’ve gone gallivanting to another country on the other side of the continent… Well, she definitely won’t understand _that_ , but it’s not like she can do anything about it either.

                The oldest son scrutinizes me for another few seconds, before conceding with a sigh. “I do have a mission for you, but it can wait.” He pauses, as though struggling with an internal conflict. Then he glances at me, and makes up his mind. “Half a year. There’s no big threat yet, just rumors. At least within these six months, we don’t desperately need a man there.”

                “Your Excellency…” I’m kinda lost for words, actually. I mean, I know that he values me as a good soldier, a valuable asset, but…

                “That’s because you’re my trump card*,” he says gruffly. “And I keep my hand close to my chest.”

                My throat gets a little tight, and I clear it with a lady-like cough. “Why, Your Excellency, I never knew you treasured little ol’ Gurrier so much… And that _is_ a very nice chest you have. Broad and strong and very--”

                “E-enough!” This man could be so firm and determined in some things, yet so adorably vulnerable in others. Personally, I think that light shade of red does wonders in reducing the aging effect those wrinkles have on his good-looking features. “It’s not just for you, the rest of us can’t get away from here either. His Majesty has enough on his plate dealing with Wolfram’s-- situation, the last thing he needs now is another international problem.”

                That’s right, Lord von Bielefelt is already in his second trimester, approaching his third. If we start making our moves in half a year, he should deliver safely before the chaos really sets in.

                I have no idea what the nature of the ‘problem’ is, and I have no intention of finding out right now. There’s no point in worrying about something that I shouldn’t—no, I can’t do anything about, so I’m leaving that up to the me of six months later to worry about.

                “Well then, if you’ll excuse me…”

                “Hold on.” Lord von Voltaire calls me back, but his tone is a little… strangled? “T-this—Conrad asked me to return it to you.”

                It’s my cocktail dress, cleaned and dried without a single shiny sequin out of place.

                “He reported to me about your performance yesterday. Good job.” One thing’s for sure, the man doesn’t hesitate with his praise. “But you should be careful next time. He was really worried.”

                “Oh?” I keep my voice casual. “Then why didn’t he return it to me himself?”

                Gwendal frowns, looking slightly confused. “Because he knew you’re coming to report to me in the morning, of course. He already told me you’re taking the month off.”

                But I told him it was a week… I bite my lip, cursing the hormones that simply refused to die. It was a logical answer, so why did I have to go sounding off on him like a suspicious wife? He was genuinely worried, and I’ve been acting like a grouch. Just because… that happened, doesn’t mean I want our relationship to change. He _is_ the closest thing I have to a best friend, after all.

                “If you’re looking for him, he should be in the courtyard training His Majesty.” Lord von Voltaire has turned his eyes back to his documents, his roundabout way of excusing me and helpfully pointing me in the right direction at the same time. “Their morning session is almost over, I’m sure His Majesty won’t mind lending him to you for a while.”

                I know he means well, but why does that sound just a little bit odd? Then again, this is Gwen we’re talking about, the guy who only invites kittens—and I mean actual kittens-- onto his bed with his ‘sexy’ voice*. I smile to myself at the memory, quickly saluting a farewell and leaving before he asks me what’s so funny.

                I can hear the Young Master’s grunts of effort long before I reach the courtyard, so I sneak around the walls and settle myself behind a pillar to watch. He’s really working hard, isn’t he? I remember the way I tested him back in Van der Via with a prick of guilt. He has proved me wrong, and proved himself a king worthy of my loyalty. What I did in Seisakoku… I dig my fingers into my arm at the memory. What I did, physically abusing the Great Sage and assaulting my liege, is more than punishable by death, perhaps even disembowelment. Heck, he could very well have left me with the enemy and let me rot away in living death.

                But of course he didn’t. Instead, he surrendered himself up in a hostage exchange to try and win me back, personally subduing me with his bare hands when I attacked him and finally dragging me back home with him, kicking and screaming*.

                Heh, I just realized that’s something else I have in common with Lord Weller. In that way, His Majesty is every bit as selfish as I am—he keeps those people important to him by his side, and refuses at any cost to let them go.

                The sounds of clashing swords slow to a halt, and I count to three, rearranging my features into a confident grin before revealing myself. Conrad sees me first, his face breaking into a smile filled with relief—a bit too much, if you ask me. Then the young king follows his gaze—

                “Young Master… is there something on my face? Looking at me like you’ve seen a ghost—Gurie-chan is hurt…”

                He went abruptly pale—I have to say, it clashes horribly with his black hair and eyes—his mouth hanging open uselessly. Then he swallows, hard, and says something that sounds like “sorry-I’m-late-Gunter-class-Wolfram-mad-I’ll-leave-you-two-bye!” before dashing off.

                “The way he’s running, you’d think I’m out to eat him or something,” I grumble. Just when I was feeling so grateful to him too…

                “That sounds like a real possibility,” the second son laughs, casually putting his hand on my shoulder. That’s odd, did he always use to do that? “So did you visit the doctor? Was it anything serious?”

                “It’s nothing.” Well, it is now. “Thanks, by the way.”

                “For?” Who does he think he’s fooling with that innocent face?

                “Lying to your precious, respected older brother for me.”

                “You’re making me sound like the bad guy…” Nope, the hurt puppy look doesn’t work, either. Lord Weller may be a genius with the sword, but he really needs to brush up his acting skills. I’d say he never fooled anyone for a second with that ‘traitor’ act back then, either. Just like you shouldn’t keep saving the king you supposedly betrayed when you’re pretending to be the enemy, you shouldn’t keep smiling like an idiot when you’re trying to sound offended.

                “…Are you drunk?” I stare into his eyes suspiciously. It’s not something he’d usually do, and his pupils look focused enough.

                “No, why would you think so?”

                “Then are you high?” A terrible thought occurs to me. “Little Anissina finally got to you, didn’t she? Damn, if she’s started experimenting on half-bloods, even I’m not safe--”

                “Gurrier…” Now he just sounds amused. “So I’m happy to see that my best friend is fine, is that so unusual?”

                Can I say yes? It’s not as if Cap was always depressed and depressing, it’s just that I haven’t seen him so purely happy since—well, since Luttenberg. Since he came back and found Suzannah Julia gone, even after he accepted her death and met his favorite godson, he always had that tinge of melancholy and guilt in those silver-flecked brown eyes.

                Great, now I feel bad for lying to him. And that’s quite an achievement, considering that’s what I do for a living.

                “I guess I’m taking the month off, after all.” He’ll find out soon enough from his brother, so there’s no point in hiding it. “There were… complications. But sheesh, chill, it’s nothing serious! What happened to the calm, collected Captain I know and respect? You know you can’t be trusted with the really important stuff if you get emotional so easily.”

                “Maybe,” he smiles with a hint of self-jest. “It’s just that, sometimes it takes a real big scare to remind you what’s important, y’know?”

                “Hmm.” He’s talking about Wolfram, I know it. Their relationship has been shaky to say the least, and even though the third son has obviously come to accept his half-blood brother, there was always this sense of awkwardness between them. Most of it is ‘cause of Lord von Bielefelt acting all… ‘tsundere’, I think, was the word the Young Master used. “I guess, sometimes if you really want something, you should just be direct and pounce on it while its guard is down?”

                “I get your point, but there’s something about the way you said it…”

*

“Wolf… Are you asleep?”

                “…Yes.”

                “Oh. Okay.”

                Wolfram von Bielefelt sighs, carefully turning around on his bed to face his husband. His belly is finally getting big enough to cause at least some inconvenience, but it’s still on the small side for this stage in the pregnancy. He must be the only pregnant person ever to wish that someday he’d get so big he can’t see his own toes. “Come on, wimp, get it off your mind so we can both get some sleep.”

                “Do you think—Yozak and Conrad—Do you think they like each other?”

                “To quote your world—duh. They were friends before I was even born. And if they didn’t trust each other implicitly on the battlefield, it’s not an exaggeration to say that the course of history itself might be different.”

                “Wow, they’re really so impressive…” Yuuri’s eyes sparkle in the night as he imagines those two men he admires so much, back to back under enemy fire, their swords strong enough to change the world. But what happens after they put down their weapons? Who’s there for them in the dark of the night? “That’s not what I mean, though…”

                “I know.” Wolfram pauses. Did he always look so mature? Yuuri had long noticed his beloved’s inner growth, but this is the first time he’s seen that growth written on the third son’s angelic face. In the dim moonlight, his skin almost seems to glow, so beautiful it’s otherworldly—pardon the pun. “Well, I know Lord Weller is crazy for Gurrier… Yuuri? Are you even listening?”

                _He’s even prettier when he’s angry…  And to think that he’s mine, all mine…_

                “Ow!” Yuuri is snapped out of his trance by a firm pinch on the cheek. “I’m listening, I’m listening… Wait, you said Conrad--?!”

                “’Isn’t it obvious?” There’s a hint of the famous von Bielefelt smugness in Wolfram’s voice now. “Everyone knows it—except for Gurrier, of course.”

                So, Conrad…

                “But he won’t do anything about it.”

                “Huh? Why not?”

                “Because he thinks he doesn’t deserve it, probably.” Wolfram puts one hand on his swollen stomach and the other behind his back, trying to find a more comfortable position. “That thing with Suzannah Julia von Wincott… it really messed him up.”

                “…I see.” Yuuri knows he shouldn’t resent her. It makes no sense to resent your own past life—although Murata seems to do a lot of that. And he knows that none of it was her fault. After all, nobody _wants_ to die. But it seems that for a woman who supposedly made so many people so happy when she was alive, any mention of her name now only brings up old and painful memories.

                And now… it might just have cost a young and innocent life to…

                “Yuuri?”

                How he wanted to tell his husband everything. Wolfram would know what to do… But no, he can already imagine how his hot-headed angel will react, and a violent burst of emotion is the last thing Wolf needs now. So instead, Yuuri presses a gentle kiss onto his consort’s hair, putting his hand onto Wolfram’s and feeling for their child together.

                He’s already got his happiness… While protecting it with one hand, he will try his best to assure their happiness with the other.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1\. "An intelligence officer’s livelihood depends on his face"... was Anissina's line, and upon hearing it Yuuri was like, 'oohhh I knew it!' xD  
> 2\. The 'trump card' thing was what Gwen thought to himself when he was trying not to care about Yozak's underwear preferences~  
> 3\. And the 'come here, kitty~' was what Yozak heard once when he dressed up as a maid to eavesdrop at his boss' bedroom door LOL
> 
> Sorry this is slightly late, got distracted :3


	6. Twist-ed (?)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which a secret is revealed and things... go back to the way they were?
> 
> Hah. As if.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I finally gave up and switched POVs at the end... orz
> 
> Parallel to Chapter 9 of 'Your Father's Child'.

“Order up!”

                I slide a martini down the counter, where Joe catches it expertly. The bar is exceptionally crowded today, so much so that even I was dragged out of hiding. Guess we could call ‘Cat-eared Fox-tailed Maid Day’ a roaring success, then. It’s as expected of Anissina’s new range of ‘Queen’s Invention’ products, although I highly suspect that Lord von Voltaire had a hand in the design this time. The proof?

                Our waitresses kept being called over by the curious customers, wondering if that realistic rear-end attachment’s supposed to be a fox tail or a walrus’ mustache. Of course, there’s also the possibility that they just wanted to cop a feel, but then again the crowd here don’t usually look for an excuse to do that—they just go ahead.

                When Joe shattered a guy’s nose last week, though, they started to get careful of whom they touched, and how. I know for a fact some of the sol—ahem, waitresses here like the attention. In the end it comes back to Lord von Christ’s infamous term, ‘personal preference’*.

                As for me—

                “Not working the floor today?”

                The genius behind the fox-walrus hybrid design still doesn’t realize how conspicuous he is when he takes a seat in front of me. Excellency, did anyone ever tell you a crooked bearbee beanie does not a disguise make? Although I doubt anything can hide that intimidating aura of his—he stands out like a siren in any crowd. Well, it just shows that no one can be good at everything.

                “Didn’t feel like it.” For one, I’ve mysteriously developed this irritating back ache that makes me want to toss a chair at anyone who so much as looks at me the wrong way. Though I have no idea what the ‘wrong’ way is…

                Personal preferences, personal preferences.

                “Then why are you still in an apron?” The oldest son’s face is twitching.

                “To get into the mood of things, of course.”

                “…Then why aren’t you wearing anything _under_ the apron?”

                “Tsk-tsk, what do you mean?” I wag my finger and eyebrows at him flirtatiously. “I’m wearing my special-homemade underwear*, which you can’t see from the front. By the way, to think that Lord von Voltaire is watching Gurie-chan so closely… Ahh, I’m so embarrassed!”

                My impression of Lord von Christ’s ‘His Majesty talked to me!’ face must be pretty good, because I even manage to elicit a smile from my superior. As soon as I slide him his drink though—a small but strong shot of hard Mazoku liquor, enough for a kick but not too much because everybody knows kittens hate the smell of alcohol—his expression turns solemn.

                “I know I promised you six months, and it’s only been four, but…”

                “Say no more, boss.” I wave him off, dropping a mini paper umbrella into his cup. There, perfect. “Where am I headed to this time?”

                “Conanshia.” He names the human country just a strait away from Mazoku borders*. “The civil war there is finally slowing down, but we need to make sure that the new administration bears no hostile intent against our nation.”

                ‘’Without being too obvious about it?”

                “As you can imagine, they are rather touchy about authority and power right now…”

                I nod sagely. “Of course. Don’t worry, you can count on me. When do I leave?”

                “Tonight.”

                Figures. “Same time, same place?”

                A pause. “There’s a slight change. Someone else will come pick you up at your house today.”

                “Yes, sir.” The best part about being a soldier is you don’t have to overthink things, especially if you have a superior officer as dependable as Lord von Voltaire. All you have to is follow the orders, right?*

                He opens his mouth to say something else, but is abruptly interrupted by the bell on top of the door. My favorite goat-milk supplier pokes her head inside, frowning slightly when she sees Gwendal at the counter. Her barely-disguised hostility is almost physically palpable.

                The oldest son coughs unnaturally, a blush rising to his cheeks. “Well then, I won’t disturb you any more, Gurrier. I—uh--” He clears his throat, forcing me to reconsider the concentration of liquor to serve him next time. “Good luck, and… be careful.”

                “Uh… thanks?” Yup, he’s drunk. Sorry, kitties.

                “What did he want?” Jenna demands suspiciously as soon as the door closes behind Gwendal. “Is he sending you out on one of those dangerous missions again?”

                “Jen, that’s my job,” I explain patiently. “Besides, four months is more than a long enough holiday.”

                “Four months…” she murmurs. “Fair enough. How’re you feeling?”

                “Fine…” Right, so my lying skills aren’t good enough to fool my doctor. Yet. “A bit of soreness here and there, nothing big.”

                “Hmm. What about your appetite? Are you eating all right?”

                “I’m eating fine… Okay, maybe not as much as I used to.”

                “Stamina? Do you get tired easily? And don’t even try to lie, you’re wasting your breath.”

                Grudgingly, I nod the affirmative. It seems that what happened four months ago has taken a toll on my body, after all. “Anything I can do about it? I need to be in top form for the mission.”

                Her expression turns strange. “This mission… How dangerous is it?”

                “It’s hard to say…” I give it some serious thought, twirling another umbrella around my fingers. “If I’m lucky, there won’t be any danger at all. If I’m unlucky…”

                She keeps silent, though I can tell she’s waging a war with herself inside. Finally she let out her breath in a weary sigh, eyeing me with something I can’t quite read. “Then you’d better make sure you get lucky. I’ll give you some medicines that might help.”

                Something’s fishy, my superspy sixth sense is warning me. But like I said, I try not to overthink things when I can. You only got one life to live, and unlike my boss, I have no intention of getting wrinkles before I’m 300, thank you very much.

 

Turns out that the ‘someone else’ Lord von Voltaire sent to pick me up is none other than his brother. Not the heavily pregnant one, of course.

                “Is it just me, or do you have a lot of free time on your hands?” I look at Lord Weller suspiciously.

                “Maybe,” he admits, the flecks of silver in those brown eyes gleaming with mischief. “His Majesty and Wolfram are probably sleeping peacefully now, and who knows when you’ll be back after you leave this time, so I thought…”

                Ah.

                The speed with which he gets my clothes off, the desperation with which he kisses me, tell me without a doubt that he’s again refused to get himself a whore for the past four months. Sheesh, if this is a gentleman’s pride, then I’m beginning to think that all gentlemen must be masochists. Why would any respectable man do this to himself?

                My body stiffens at his touch, reminding me that I hadn’t been laid since that last time either.

                “…Gurrier?”

               That last time… I clench my fist in his hair, lapping at his tongue with more force than strictly necessary. “We agreed. I top.”

                “…Okay.”

                There’s something about the way he submits so easily that pisses me off. I don’t know why, it just… does. Maybe some small part of me does resent him for what he made me go through four months ago, or blames him for how suckish I still feel now. And an even smaller part of me wants to tell him exactly that, to savor the guilt on his face.

                But I know I can’t, not unless I want him to never look at me the same way again. Not unless I want our relationship to change forever, and not in a good way.

                Not if I still want to see that smile, that smile of pure, untainted happiness that he’s just begun to show me again.

                There’s just too much at stake here, and it’s not like telling him will change anything. What’s done is done, what’s gone is gone. Since when did I start looking back and regretting the past, anyway? My way of life is always to look forward, head held high.

                But that doesn’t mean I can’t take the opportunity to hurt him in other, less permanent ways, though. Especially when he’s so willing, it’d be a shame if I were to waste his good intentions.

                So I take everything he has to give, and then some. This time, however, I remember to make precautions.

 

My boat to Conanshia departs from the country’s southern-most port, in the von Gyllenhaal lands*. We don’t dare to dawdle, and even going the fastest we can, the trip takes us a whole day by horseback. If Lord Weller hurries back through the night, he might still make it in time for the Young Master’s training the next morning.

                “Yozak…”

                “Off with you,” I say lazily, shooing him away. We’re almost at the city gates, and already I can see the ocean gleaming at the horizon. “The port’s right there, and I’m fairly sure I can get there without getting lost or falling into the sea.”

                “If you’re sure…”

                “Like hell I am. Now get lost before I send you to an old folks’ home for premature senility and excessive nagging.”

                He laughs a little at that, and then, to my surprise, he throws his arms around me in a tight hug. “Be safe. I—We’ll be waiting for your return.”

                And before I can respond to that, he’s turned his horse away, galloping back into the trees.

                What’s gotten to him? If I didn’t know better, I’d say he’s the one with messed-up hormones. Or maybe Wolfram’s mood swings rubbed off on him? But I heard that the Prince Consort’s pregnancy is going particularly smoothly now…

                I meant it when I told Conrad I could make it to the port on my own, I really did. But somewhere along the way, the dizziness hits me like a tsunami. My vision blurs, the world is spinning, and though I reach for the pills Jenna gave me, my hand stops listening to me mid-movement.

                The medicines crash onto the ground just a second before I do.

               

“You awake?”

                Now, why does this seem familiar? I groan, putting my arm over my eyes while my foggy brain slowly awakens to the familiar smell of a clinic cum apothecary. Only difference now is the doctor isn’t a girl barely ninety, but a man at least twice my age. “What’s wrong with me, doc? Whatever it is, I can take it. Unless, of course, you’re gonna tell me I have a day left to live. If so, I’ll just go back to sleep now and save a few hours of effort.”

                “If you’re feeling well enough to joke, then I’m guessing there’s nothing really wrong with you,” he says drily, taking some notes. “Just overwork, not enough sleep, and minor dehydration. Really, you should have taken better care of yourself--”

                Yup, when you’ve seen one doctor, you’ve seen them all.

                “—be glad that the baby’s fine--”

                Yeah, yeah…

                “—though you really scared us for a moment there, I really don’t understand how half-bloods like you work…”

                Wait, what?!

               All the blood leaves my face, and I sit up abruptly, resisting the faintness that’s threatening to overwhelm me again. “Hold on a sec, doc. Did you just say—What do you mean by the--” My tongue feels clumsy in my mouth, refusing to form the word, “—baby?”

                “You didn’t know?” The doctor looks genuinely surprised. “It’s true that for some reason you’re still not showing—something to do with your mixed heritage or maybe just those hard abs—but you’re six months along.”

                “Six months,” I echo hollowly. “But I thought—four months ago—I miscarried--”

                “Oh, no wonder.” He nods to himself as though suddenly it all made sense to him. Well, it sure as hell doesn’t to me. “It was an accident, right? There was probably bleeding, and cramps, but you’d be surprised how well your body is made to protect your baby in these situations-- especially since you’re a man. Male pregnancies might be a bit risky at first, but once your body decides it wants to keep the child, it’s actually quite hard to convince it otherwise.” Then he frowns. “Surely your doctor knows, though? All the medicines we found on you are for stabilizing pregnancies and reducing the symptoms. Maybe they just forgot to--”

                I grab my rucksack from him, rummaging through the contents with a sinking feeling. And just like I guessed, there’s a tiny slip of paper at the very bottom, which I open with shaking hands—

                “…I can’t read it.”

                “This is your doctor’s handwriting?” He smiles sympathetically. “It just says ‘sorry’. Hmm, how curious—Whoa, calm down, you shouldn’t get so agitated!”

                For I had crumpled the paper into my whitening fist, screaming inside:

                _Jenna---------!_

*

[Yuuri]

“Ah-choo!”

                “…Your Majesty, are you okay?”

                “I’m fwine,” I sniffle, rubbing my nose. That sneeze didn’t hurt as much as I thought it would, at least not as much as that time I sneezed out a fish… bone. A Fish Bone tribe, to be precise*. That’s enough to traumatize a man for life. Speaking of which, I wonder where it went afterwards? Hopefully it wasn’t still in that huge pot the next time they started cooking the jellyfish stew…

                “…Yuuri?”

                “Huh?” Crap, I got distracted again. “I’m listening, I’m listening! Uh… what were you saying again?”

                Conrad’s smile is fond but exasperated. “I was just saying that maybe you should rest.”

                “I’m fine, Conrad.” It’s just paperwork, after all. “Besides, Gwedal and Gunter are already doing so much. This is the least I can do.”

                The second son looks unconvinced. Ever since I found out that Yozak is—well, you know—preggers, I can’t look at Lord Weller without thinking, _Holy cow, they did it._   I know I shouldn’t be surprised, since Wolfram and I—ahem, anyway, what I mean is I still find it hard to imagine sometimes… not that I want to imagine it…

                I change the topic to hide the heat in my cheeks. “And what about you, godfather? If I recall correctly, you had a mission out in the countryside with Yozak last night, didn’t you?”

                Great job, Shibuya. Way to go to change the topic.

                “Oh, a night or two without sleep is nothing to a soldier.” Yup, now I know for sure they did it again. The term ‘too much information’ in its finest. “And besides, I rarely have anything to do whenever Your Majesty isn’t around, so it’s only fair that I put in my share of work when I can.”

                Come to think of it, Conrad did tell me once that he just wanders around aimlessly when I’m away at Earth. Geez, if you have so much time, shouldn’t you be spending it with Gurrier and the kid? Oh, wait, he probably still doesn’t know… Actually, does Gurrier even know yet?

                I feel a tiny prick of guilt. Although I had sworn to help make their happy ending –I always wanted to play matchmaker—I had gotten sidetracked by Wolfram and our baby. He’s not growing as fast as he should, and everyone’s on edge. Put that together with the rumors of Conanshia and its new government, and I haven’t found the time to catch up with Gurrier or Jenna for months.

                He should be okay, right? I mean, this is Yozak Gurrier we’re talking about, the Mazoku version of 007! Okay, half-Mazoku… and instead of ordering cocktails he makes them… and somehow I get the feeling he’d prefer to be the Bond Girl instead of Bond himself…

                And I’m pretty sure that in all the Bond movies he never got himself knocked up…

                I want to bury my face in my hands. Even though I heard Gwen gave him half a year off, there’s still something scary about leaving him out there, not even knowing that he’s still carrying a precious new life in him. I mean, look at what Wolf did! That same fear I felt, the panic I still feel whenever I remember how I found him at the von Bielefelt castle, washes over me like déjà vu.

                A firm hand rests on my back, lending me its warmth and strength. I look up to see the second son’s comforting smile—the man who has as much to lose as I do, or more. He probably sensed that I’m worried for Wolfram again, and even if he doesn’t know it yet, Gurrier is out there somewhere with his kid too. I never noticed it before, but after Wolf mentioned it, even I can’t miss it anymore. Conrad loves Gurrier, it’s obvious from the way his face lights up whenever Yozak’s around, or whenever he hears the spy’s name mentioned. As though the mere fact that Yozak exists helps make him feel a little less lonely.

                If only he knew, I bet he’d run straight over to wherever Gurrier is and propose.

                I smile at the idea, then shake it off. It’s not my place to tell him, and ‘sides, moms, or people who are gonna be moms, are surprisingly tough. Just look at my mom, and Wolf…

                “Everyone’s working hard, huh?”

                Be it the ones who’re running the country, or the ones protecting the next generation, they’re all doing their best. That’s why I can’t afford to lose to them, or be the one holding them down. Gurrier will be fine, it’s not as though he can get himself into any life-threatening situations in the capital, under Jenna’s watch, right? I can trust him to take care of himself.

                As for me—I dive back into my papers with a vengeance. I can’t help everyone or do everything, but right now what I can do is finish my work as fast as possible, so I can go back to our room, hold my husband tightly and tell him again just how much I love him, how much I appreciate what he’s going through to have our child, and how much I’ll love both of them once he’s born.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Loads of *s with tons of explanation...
> 
> 1\. 'Personal preferences'~ This is one of my fav jokes from the novel! I just realised it's too long to post here, so I might translate it and put it somewhere else, but the gist is Gunter used those two words to pull the wool over some enemy eyes, leading to Yuuri imagining some hilarious things xDD
> 
> 2\. The aforemetioned leaf underwear~
> 
> 3 & 4\. Thanks to Red Glasses Girl, I managed to get a map of the KKM world~ I'm trying to keep the geography as accurate as possible, heh ^^
> 
> 5\. Belar the 4th made 'Norman Gilbert' swallow a goldfish as congratulations for winning the tournament in the Caloria arc... and once they get back to Caloria, Yuuri sneezes out its... remains(?) into a barrel of jellyfish stock-- but look, the skeleton's still swimming! Murata says a baby Fishbone tribe is very good luck, so Yuuri tries to grab it... and then they fall into the soup. Cue 'Star Tour', back to Earth! XD


	7. Conrart

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I know what's important to me. I don't need to lose it to know. I just didn't say it yet.
> 
> So please... Don't let me lose him before I can tell him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As usual, chapter title = POV change

In these past few months, His Majesty has been acting strangely.

                Whenever he looks at me, it’s as though his thoughts immediately jump somewhere else, and he’ll blush, murmuring something about ‘the capital’, ‘safe’, and ‘nothing can happen, right?’

                Unfortunately, a month before my youngest brother’s due date, he is proven completely and utterly wrong.

               It’s something I wished to forget as soon as it ended. For a moment there, all of us thought that we would lose him, lose both of them. And although everything turned out okay at the end, with my nephew born small but definitely not weak, and the culprits apprehended and currently being tortu—I mean, interrogated by our oldest brother, I would still give an arm and a leg to forget the emotional rollercoaster I went through that night.

                Maybe it’ll fade with time, just like everything else does. Now, looking down at my godson cradling _his_ son—my nephew? my god-grandson?—I feel like there’s a high chance it will, that maybe someday we will look back and laugh at the way Shinri had KO’ed the bad guys despite being only a day old.

                Maybe someday I’ll even get to hear him brag about it to my kids. His cousins.

                “…By the way, Conrad, where’s Yozak? Did you invite him to the naming ceremony?”

                In the Shin Makoku, we sometimes had baby showers a month before the baby was supposed to be born, much like the Western countries on His Majesty’s home world of Earth. But seeing as that is now obsolete, Yuuri suggested that we change it into the Japanese traditional ‘oshichiya’ instead. Seven days after his birth, the child’s proud parents will present him with his name, and the country with Her new prince.

                Of course, that last part was Lord von Christ’s idea. Yuuri actually just wanted an excuse to have a large party, invite everyone he knew to celebrate, maybe show off his son a bit, and finally convince himself that it’s all real, that he’s not dreaming.

                “…Conrad?”

                “Ah, yes.” Guess I’m still not used to this feeling of peace and happiness. “Gurrier is on a mission, Your Majesty. In fact, he left two months ag--“

                Yuuri stands up abruptly, sending his chair crashing into the ground. The child wakes, blinking his large green eyes, but miraculously he doesn’t cry. Over on the bed, though, his mother groans loudly and pulls a pillow over his ears. Childbirth really took a lot out of my brother, even if he doesn’t want to admit it, and that’s why his husband offered to care for the child while he slept.

                So what could agitate the king to the point of disturbing his beloved’s sleep?

                “Don’t call me Your Majesty,” is the first thing he says, perhaps out of reflex as he tries to organize his thoughts. I recognize the emotion running across his face—it’s panic, pure and simple. “And why didn’t you tell me Yozak’s not here?! I thought he’s supposed to be on holiday!”

                “He was, but Lord von Voltaire thought the situation in Conanshia needed looking into sooner than we expected.” Call it my soldier’s instincts, but I’m starting to get a very bad feeling. Why was Yuuri getting so upset? Did he know something I didn’t?

                “…is Gurrier in danger?” The words sound as though they come from a distance, and not my own mouth. “Is he sick?”

                “…sick? I-I-I guess you could say…”

                I knew it! I knew he wasn’t feeling well that day when I sent him off, I should have stayed with him, no, I should have stopped him—

                “Please excuse me, Your Majesty, I have to go--”

                “Wait!” My godson looks as surprised as I do when he grabs my wrist, but he doesn’t let go. I watch with growing impatience as he takes a deep breath, finding the words. And when he meets my gaze again, his eyes are more mature, more solemn than I ever remembered seeing them.

                “Before you go, Conrad, I need to know—Do you love him?”

                “W-what do you mean?”

                “There’s no time to fool around anymore,” he insists urgently, sending a new wave of panic welling up my throat. Yozak’s in danger, grave danger—but something tells me I need to hear Yuuri out, that whatever he means to say is important. “Do you love Gurrier, Conrad? I need to know the answer before I can let you see him.”

                His face says that he’s already regretting telling me, and I feel an inexplicable anger rise within.

                “Yes, of course I do!”

                If you ask me when it started… No, I don’t know. All I know is that he’s always been there for me, through good and bad times. It sounds clichéd, yes, but for someone like me who was born in the middle of two worlds, and has had to fight for my place in my home, just knowing that whatever happens, there’ll be someone waiting for me when I turn around—perhaps it’s what kept me sane all these years.

                That’s why-- I can’t afford to lose him now.

                “I love him, so please, let me go find him! It might not be too late--”

                “—Have you ever thought of… settling down with him?”

                This question takes me by surprise, and the answer leaves my tongue before I can even consider it. “No.”

                Those deep black eyes fill with a despair I never want to see in a boy his age. “Why? Is it because of… Julia?”

                Julia… How long has it been since I heard that name? I smile bitterly. “Maybe. But the only feeling I have for her now is guilt. I don’t deserve to love her, Yuuri, the same way I don’t deserve to love Gurrier. When I lost her, I lost the only thing I ever wanted to protect*. And then I met you… I’m a sinner, Yuuri. I’m a sinner cursed with longevity, so I can use that time to atone for my mistakes.” I bow my head low. “I apologize, Your Majesty. I swore to protect you with my life, but now I must take my leave for a while--”

                “…I don’t need your protection anymore.”

                There it is. I knew it would come someday, the time when I am no longer needed—

                “—But he does.”

                “Gurrier?” I laugh hollowly. “If anyone ever dares suggest that to him, he’ll send them away with a black eye and some broken bones. Yozak Gurrier doesn’t need to be protected, Your Majesty. He doesn’t need anyone to dictate his life.”

                “Maybe.” My young double-black king bites his lip. My king, my godson, my brother-in-law—before he was even born, he had become my world. But now he’s all grown up, and the gentle tenderness with which he cradles his son even while he’s thinking reminds me that he’s someone else’s whole world now, too. “Maybe what you need now isn’t someone to protect, but an equal.”

                The tiny soul I brought to Earth, the baby boy I saved from a robber*, he’s now a father. And a damn well capable one, at that. “Conrad, I’d tell you to let go and forgive yourself, but if you never listened before, I know you won’t listen now. What you need is someone you can look in the eye without feeling guilty or inferior, someone you can share your troubles with, and someone who can trust you with theirs.”

                And then he blinks. “Huh, I sure sound smart, don’t I? Murata must be rubbing off on me.”

                An equal, huh? It’s true, Yozak is the only person who fits all those criteria for me. Is that why I fell in love with him? Maybe.

                “…and even if he doesn’t need your protection, there’s someone else who does…”

                “I understand, Your—Yuuri.” I stand to attention, my expression serious and my mind made up. Yuuri and Wolfram are fine now—they’ve finally gotten the happiness they deserve. If I stay here with my misgivings, I’ll only be putting a damper on it. “I solemnly ask for a month’s—no, two months’ leave, to sort out my personal affairs.”

                My king—my brilliant, brave, double black king, smiles at me with something akin to pride. “Take all the time you want, Lord Weller. I await your good news.”

                His words give me confidence, and a savage sense of release. Maybe, just maybe, it’s my turn to look for my own happiness.

 

It takes me half a week to reach the capital of Conanshia, where Gurrier is supposed to be scouting out the enemy situation.

                The city is a bustling hubbub of human activity, though there’s a hushed edge to the rowdy crowds now, as though the people are still trying to remember how to live normally, or how they used to live before the war. It’s a scene I’m more than used to, but I’m not worried. Humans, for all their short-lived years, have the amazing ability to adapt and move on that we Mazoku somehow lack.

                I was stopped at the gate, and though all I had to do to get instant access was to flash my insignia as the Maou’s personal guard, I resisted. If the new government really was planning to turn on the Shin Makoku, making a scene of myself now will not only alarm them, it might even blow Gurrier’s cover, putting him in even more danger. The thought of my rash actions harming him, somewhere I can’t even see….

                My hand tightens around the hilt of my blade, hidden under my travelling cloak.

                _“In his last report, he said that he infiltrated the castle and is currently gathering intel as a kitchenmaid.”_ I still remember Gwendal’s frown when I burst into his office, demanding to know everything he knew about Yozak’s whereabouts. _“He sounds fine, Conrad. I know you’re worried, but--”_

                I didn’t stay around long enough to hear the rest.

                Conanshia’s royal palace isn’t as big or majestic as Covenant Castle, but it still stood impressively apart from the rest of the city. The second sets of gates I meet today are evidently more heavily guarded—an innocent smile and some last-minute identification papers won’t grant me access this time. Just when I start debating the merits of vaulting the walls versus scouting around, though, the small side doors swing open, and a couple of palace maids head into the streets, chatting.

                “Miss, wait!” The desperation in my voice when I call out to them is all too real. If Gurrier was here, he would surely be making fun of my acting skills again. It’s a miracle that he still hasn’t noticed that I get particularly bad at hiding my emotions whenever he’s involved.

                The two women eye me warily, exchanging glances.

                “Please, I’m looking for someone—Orange hair, blue eyes, huge biceps? Do you know anyone like that?”

                “Oh, you mean Gurie-chan?” One of them replies almost instinctively, earning herself an elbow in the ribs from her friend. “C’mon, Betty, he looks nice enough!”

                “What do you want with Gurie-chan?” The other looks a little older than me, meaning she’s about a quarter of my age. If there’s one thing I’ve learned, though, it’s that women mature faster than men—especially human women. I almost quail under the severity of her gaze. “I’m sorry to be suspicious of you, mister, but you understand that we can’t simply go telling strangers where the poor dear lives, not while she’s all alone, and with her body the way it is--”

                Her body… For a second there I forget how to breathe, all my worst fears confirmed.

                “…Mister? Mister!” The first girl waves her hand in front of my eyes worriedly. “Aw, look at him, Betts! I think he really does know Gurie-chan… Shouldn’t we tell him? I mean, it’s Gurie-chan, after all. Even on her sick days she can probably break a guy this thin in half.”

                Betty frowns, but after the longest two seconds in my life, she finally relents. ”Gurie-chan lives in a hut near the palace’s western entrance, on the outskirts of the forest over there—Hey!”

                Never have I run as fast as I do now. Yozak’s sick, and he’s been all alone on enemy territory this whole time. Even though my rational mind heard the girl’s words and ois telling the rest of me that at least he’s still more than capable of defending himself, the fear that’s taking over everything else is anything but rational.

                I need to see him, touch him, hear his voice, before I can convince myself that he’s safe.

                Thinking back now, I can’t for the life of me remember how I got to his hut in the first place. For months afterwards I kept getting lost in the trees, not out of my own ineptitude, but because he was just too damn good at hiding his house. But that first day, in my heat-hazed panic, I was throwing his door down in no time, screaming his name.

                “ _Gurrier!_ ”

                “…Captain?”

                He’s in one piece, my soldier’s eye notes automatically. A bit pale, but at least he still has all his limbs. But just seeing is not enough. In one long stride I’m at his side, hands patting down his sides. He doesn’t seem to be in any pain, he’s still calling my name confusedly, which means his sanity is intact—

                “…Thank goodness.”

                All the adrenaline drains out of my body, but the blood is still rushing through my ears, drowning out that small voice at the back of my brain that’s trying to tell me something.                Feeling abruptly weak, I wrap my arms around his waist for support, leaning my head on his shoulder. “Thank goodness.”

                “Captain…”

                There’s something in his tone—something more than just confusion and amusement. There’s something wrong.

                “Lord Weller…”

                I release him quickly, taking a step back to appraise him properly now that I’m sane again. The first thing I notice is… “That’s, um, a nice dress.”

                A maternity dress.

                “Thanks,” he says drily. “I always wanted to try one of these, y’know?”

                “Is that…” I gulp, my throat suddenly dry, “… a new disguise?”

                If it was—it’d be a pretty good impression of someone in their third trimester. Very realistic.

                “Nope.”

                “Not… a disguise?”

                “Sorry, nope.”

                So that’s what Yuuri meant by ‘I guess you could say he’s sick’.

                The world starts to spin around me, changing too fast for me to comprehend. “Since… How long…”

                He looks at me with something awfully similar to pity. “Eight months.”

                And then, to my eternal shame, just as the two maids from before step past the door—

                I pass out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That's the sad part about writing about an unrequited love from the oblivious party's point of view... you really don't get the romantic vibe at all orz And there's only so much I can do with one chapter on Conrad...


	8. Reunion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You came all this way... You don't know a damn thing, but you still came.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And this signals the start of the fluff period :3

“Betty, Lynn!” I catch the second son firmly with one arm and greet my ‘colleagues’ with a bright grin, when all I really want to do is grit my teeth. “What are you doing here?”

                “Visiting you, of course!” Betty lifts a basket of baked goods self-righteously. “We managed to sneak out for an hour or two. Here, from all the girls back in the kitchen.”

                “Cupcakes, yay~” Just when I was craving something sweet, too~

                I toss Conrad onto the bed and grab the basket happily.

                “Gurie-chan, do you know that man?” Lynn asks concernedly just as the person in question starts stirring. Hmph, if he stayed down for longer than that, I’d send him back to the military academy for retraining.

                “Yup.” I take a large bite out of the blueberry marble cake. Yum. “He’s the father of my baby.”

                Oh. There he goes again.

                “This is the childhood friend you were talking about?” Lynn immediately starts squealing. “The half-Mazoku who saved you from the houseki mines?”

                Hey, I needed some reason to explain why a petite, sensitive young woman like myself had killer guns. And the fact that I’m a half-blood can’t be hidden for long, either. Rule number one: The best lies, are nothing more than slight distortions of the truth.

                “The one and only.” I inhale the rest of the cupcake and pull a dazed Conrad to my side. “Connie, this is Betty, and that’s Lynn. They’ve been taking great care of me, so you don’t have to worry.”

                In other words: I’m fine, so save your questions for later.

                Finally, the Captain regains some sense of his old dignity. Recovering quickly before the girls sense anything amiss, he plasters on that charming gentleman’s smile of his, the one the Young Master calls the ‘housewife killer’. “It’s my pleasure to meet you, ladies. I can’t thank you enough for what you’ve done.”

                Huh. Rule number two: When you don’t know the details, keep it vague. Seems like he’s not completely hopeless, after all.

                I’ve seen that smile work wonders on the fairer sex, and Lynn succumbs instantly. Betty isn’t so easily swayed, though. As one of the senior kitchen maids, she sees herself as a sort of matron to the rest of us—them. It took me a while to get her to trust me, but now she’s my number one guardian, and I can’t think of anyone I’d rather have on my side in the messy world of servant class politics. “And where were _you,_ mister, when poor Gurie-chan was here all alone? So heavily with child, no less! Do you know how dangerous it is for an expectant mother to be on her own in a new place?”

                “He didn’t know,” I interject quickly, taking the lead. “I wanted him to focus on his duty, so I didn’t tell him.”

                “You said he’s a soldier?” She scrutinizes him with a practiced eye, taking in all the scars on his battle-weary body. Eventually, though, her gaze relents slightly. “True, it’s best not to get distracted in the middle of a war. Well, then, now that the war’s over and you’re back here, I take it you’ll be taking good care of your wife and kid?”

                “…I’ll never leave them again.” His words, spoken as though in oath, and his hand, clutching mine firmly, sure don’t feel like a lie. And I don’t think he’s that good an actor yet.

                “You saw how worried he was, Betts,” Lynn puts in a good word for us, obviously won over by the dashing young stranger. “Come on, shouldn’t we leave them now? It’s been months since they’ve seen each other!”

                “One more question.” Betty stares Conrad squarely in the eyes. “Do you plan on keeping the child?”

                “No,” I put myself in between them, breaking the eye contact. “I thought I told you, Betty. It was an accident.”

                There are some things you must never lie about. I’ve been asked that question countless times since day one, and even though it brought me a lot of unnecessary attention, that was, and will always be, my only answer.

                I’m not giving anyone false hopes. I’m not that cruel.

                “I know what you think, Gurie.” Betty’s smile is gentle and fond when she looks at me, but it hardens as soon as her gaze moves to the man behind me. “But I’m not asking you. I’m asking the baby’s father.”

                “…We’re keeping it.” I had almost forgotten how forceful the Captain could be when he wanted to. With one hand on my shoulder, he pushes me back down onto the bed, firmly but carefully. I couldn’t even resist. “I’m sorry to have bothered you all this time, but now that I’m back, you can be sure that I’ll never let either of them get away from me again.”

                They glare at each other for a few more seconds, sparks flying everywhere. Just when I’m beginning to worry about the wooden furniture, though, Betty’s stern expression cracks, and she reaches over to rub Conrad’s hair like a nanny would to a particularly stubborn child. With his reflexes, the second son could have dodged easily.

                He doesn’t.

                “Well said, soldier.” Her voice is gruff, and she does sound surprisingly like a superior officer. “If anything happens to her, I’ll skin you alive and hang you out to dry across the castle gates.”

                “Yes, ma’am.” He’s smiling too, but his eyes are deadly serious, the silver in them shining determinedly. “If, god forbid, anything does happen, I’ll personally hand my head to you on a plate.”

                “Then that’d just be a waste of a perfectly good plate. Come on, Lynn. It’s almost tea time for those stuck-up aristocrats.”

                And with those words that would definitely earn her a public flogging if overheard, she turns around and marches out of the door, without once looking back.

 

“She’s a nice one, isn’t she?” Conrad asks out of the corner of his mouth, still smiling and waving.

                “Yeah, well, a lot of them are.”

                “Kinda makes you feel bad for lying to them, doesn’t it?”

                “No, not really.”

                “I mean, what did they ever do to you? They just care, and rather genuinely at that. It wouldn’t hurt to tell them the truth once in a while…”

                “It would, and you know it.” I sigh, closing the door as soon as the women were out of sight. Shit, just a little bit of waving, and already my arm hurts. Damn this stupid pregnancy business. “Whatever you want to say, just spit it out.”

                “…You could have told me.”

                He drops his arm and his smile. His expression isn’t even angry, or disappointed, just—blank. But I know what it means, and it’s scaring me shitless. That’s the face he usually has when he’s going to lose control, and do something incredibly brave, or incredibly stupid, sometimes both. Like that time he charged into the enemy camp armed with nothing but a spork.

                “You should have told me.”

                “I _should’ve_ done nothing.” The authority in his voice is starting to irk me. “Remember, Lord Weller, you’re not my officer anymore. And even if you are, I have no obligation to report my personal matters to you.”

                “So Gwendal doesn’t know.” Crap, I let that one slip. “Of course he doesn’t, he would never let you out on a mission alone if he knew you’re--”

                “This doesn’t change anything!” My pitch rises unnaturally, no thanks to the hormones. “I’m perfectly fine, so just let me do this, Conrad!”

                This child is already ruining my figure and robbing me of my self-control. If I lose my job, my reputation-- I won’t have anything left.

                For a long few seconds, Conrad doesn’t say anything, just stares at me with eyes more solemn than I’ve ever seen. And then, when I raise my fist and get ready to sock him in the eye, his face breaks into a smile so dazzling even I have to look away.

                “Did I say anything about taking you off the mission? I just said that Gwen wouldn’t let you do this ‘alone’, right?”

                Before I can react, he’s gently wrapped his arms around my now-considerable waistline, whispering into my ear, “I’m not worried, because I’ll be here to protect you from now o--”

                He stops abruptly when my fist connects with his left eye.

 

“…I should’ve known better, huh?”

                “You should,” I agree. “Never forget this, Lord Conrart Weller. Whether I’m just pregnant or down with the plague, I don’t need anybody’s protection. Not even you.”

                “You make me sound marginally special,” he says with a sheepish smile, massaging his black eye with a hard-boiled egg. “Thanks for this, by the way.”

                “The egg, or the black eye?”

                “…I guess I deserved both.” He looks around my humble hut hesitantly, his gaze lingering on the dusty stove. “So you cook your own meals?”

                “Sometimes.” I shrug nonchalantly. As soldiers, we’re trained to eat meat raw if we have to. As the proud owner of a bar, I have some pretty nifty recipes stored in my head next to all the weapon instructions. “Mostly I’m too lazy to cook, so I just grab leftovers from the palace.”

                “Leftovers?” He stares at the egg as though it’d suddenly grown wings. “How old is this?”

                “About a week.” Hard-boiled eggs last quite long if you keep them in their shells.

                “A--!” And he throws it onto the ground, stomping it out like a fire. Yeesh, what did it ever do to you?

                “I hope you’re cleaning that up later.”

                “You can’t just eat leftovers! Think about the baby! That’s it, I’m taking charge of our meals from now on!”

                Uh, but if I remember correctly, your kitchen qualifications stop at ‘soldier’.

                I don’t say that out loud, though. Watching him put on one of my aprons and rummage through the shelves is more interesting than anything else I’ve seen or done in weeks, so I let him at it for, oh, another ten minutes or so. By the time he’s figured out that the bowl with holes is for steaming, I settle back into a chair, prop my aching feet up and decide to give him a reality check.

                “Are you sure you should be staying here? If I recall correctly, your brother is due soon.”

                If I’m eight, almost nine months along, then Lord von Bielefelt should be at eleven.

                “Oh, you didn’t know?” He sounds only mildly distracted, struggling now with a huge bush of local Conanshia vegetables. “I guess news doesn’t travel so quickly here. Wolfram delivered last week.”

                “ _What?”_ I’d jump out of my seat to show my surprise, but my ankles make me feel like an elephant.

“There were complications, these hitmen from Big Shimaron--” The second son finally turns around, wiping his hands on my apron. His words sort of trail off when he sees me, though, his gaze turning so complicated it makes me somewhat uncomfortable.

                “And then?” I urge him on, trying to sound impatient when in reality I just want to break the awkward silence. “Is it a boy or a girl? Holy crap, that makes him or her a month premature! And what about Wolfram? Is he okay?”

                “It’s a boy, and they’re both fine.” His voice sounds a little dazed, but then he blinks, clears his throat, and is suddenly all focused again. “They’re fine now, but they really scared us the night Shinri was born. Wolf said Yuuri still has nightmares about it.”

                So Shinri is the new prince’s name. Doesn’t sound like a typical Mazoku name, but then again nothing about that entire family is typical.

                “…I’m still scared, too.”

                “Hmm?” I got sidetracked, trying to imagine what the prince looked like –if he’s a double black, Lord von Christ will have a field day—and so I almost didn’t get what Conrad’s talking about.

                But there’s no mistaking the way he’s looking at me now, like a knight about to swear his love and loyalty to the princess in the tower. I suppress a shudder. It sounds just like the kind of story Anissina would write—although those tended to end up with the princess trampling over the knight’s body as a bridge to escape.

                “I’m scared, Yozak. You didn’t see how Wolf looked that night—even he thought he was going to die. If that could be you… If in a few months you have to go through that…” He clenches his fist, shaking his head as though he wants to chase the images away. “I won’t let that happen. Even if you don’t want my protection, I won’t leave your side until I’ve seen that child born and safely in your arms.”

                “When did I say anything about chasing you away?” Since when has the Captain gotten so melodramatic? Don’t tell me Lord von Christ has been rubbing off on him… If that’s the case, it may be a good thing that he’s staying away for a few months. “You’d better admire my foresight then, because as my ‘husband’, you have every reason to tail and support me for the remaining of this mission. Understood, soldier?”

                “Yes, sir!” He instinctively responds with a salute, standing to attention, but that’s a grin you don’t see in an army drill. It’s not too long before his expression clouds over again, though, and he glances at me cautiously. “It’s okay, right? Me pretending to be your husband… What about the baby’s real father?”

                …Is he really so clueless, or is he just pretending?

                The awkwardness and—pain? hurt?—on his face looks all too real, though.

                “Have you… Have you told him?”

                “No.” True enough.

                “…I see.” He falls silent, but only for two seconds. “When you said you don’t want to keep the child--”

               “I meant every word.” It’s not like I didn’t try to get rid of it before. But even I know that after the second trimester, an abortion is way out of the question, unless I’m willing to put my life on the line. “I’ll give it up for adoption after it’s born.”

                “…Ah.” He pauses, then continues in an oddly cheery tone, “Well, first we got to make sure he or she is born safely, right? So that means no more leftovers for you, got it?”

                “Whatever you say, Cap.” I relax back into my chair, wondering if I should tell him I never meant to eat that egg in the first place. But doing that would mean admitting it’s for all the men I ‘accidentally’ beat up when they try to hit on me…

                Nah, guess not.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Suddenly noticed there are more OCs... Ah well, will try to keep those to a minimum.


	9. The Best Laid Plans

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I was doing well before he came. Now that he's here, some things have to change. 
> 
> But I'm coping. And everything has its benefits if you know how to exploit 'em.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Extra long chapter to make up for missing yesterday's! A peep into Yozak's daily life(?) and... fluff? Does this count as fluff?
> 
> [Warning: May contain first draft errors. Please point out should you see any. Thank you.]

Actually, being pregnant has some perks.

                First off, maternity dresses are unbelievably comfy, and I don’t even have to worry if I’ll look fat in them anymore.

                Secondly, I get tons of discounts and free gifts when I go shopping for groceries in the market.

                But most importantly, though I resent not being to move properly with a sword anymore, it definitely has helped make my job easier in some other ways. I never understood why, but even when I’m dressed in my finest, there are always some people who can’t seem to buy that I’m a pretty, innocent, defenseless young woman. Well, now I’ve finally realized that the ‘defenseless part’ was the problem the entire time.

                One that being with child more or less fixed.

                Of course, that led to another problem—the fact that I am, in actual fact, pretty much defenseless this late into the pregnancy. But I’ve obviously found the solution to that now.

                Or rather, I should say, he found me.

                “Gurie, pass me those a--”

                “Here!” Before I can even react, Conrad has lifted the entire basket of apples and handed them carefully over to the chef.

                “Ah, Connie, thanks.” The man blinks the steam out of his eyes, sounding suddenly apologetic. “Sorry, I forgot I shouldn’t ask your girl for heavy lifting anymore.”

                “Oh, it’s fine.” The second son sounds so genuinely pleasant that it’s no wonder he already has the whole kitchen wrapped around his finger. “If there’s anything else anyone needs carrying, you can just call for me. I’d feel bad just getting in the way otherwise.”

                “Gurie-chan, you’re so lucky to have a man like him,” Lynn sighs beside me, her hands hovering dangerously close to the pot of stew I’m stirring. “I bet he does everything around the house too, so you can just put your feet up and relax all day.”

                “By relax, you mean gather dust and grow mould.” I poke her with my ladle playfully, but she’s hit the nail right on the head. Impossible as it may sound, I’m actually getting babied around while undercover, overseas, on a top secret mission. Just goes to show what the Captain can do when he gets real.

                And it seems that if it weren’t for my signature bar dish recipes, he’d be robbing me of my job here too.

                “Gurie-chan, service!”

                “On it!” I thrust the ladle into Lynn’s hand and throw my apron off, rushing—okay, waddling out of the kitchen. Seeing the rate at which I’m going, Lord Weller matches me stride for… waddle, looking perfectly at ease even as he lifts a whole crate of potatoes to hide his whisper.

                “Where are you going?”

                “Dining room,” I force out through my teeth, trying my best not to wheeze in front of him. “Gotta serve some stuffy nobles.”

                He falls into a reluctant silence then, falling behind as the kitchen crew starts slapping him on the back for being an overprotective boyfriend. Well, at least he hasn’t lost full sight of our objective yet. This is my best chance to get closer to the targets and possibly wheedle out the information we need. Or maybe he just thinks that since there’s no confirmed animosity between our countries yet, there’s not much risk in a place as public as a palace dining chamber.

                If so, I was probably right not to tell him exactly where I’m headed.

                “Heard your boyfriend’s back in town. Guy must be a sucker for punishment.”

                A few corridors down, and a palace guard sidles up to me casually.

                I glance at him sideways. “Is your eye feeling better?”

                “Yeah, thanks to your amazing cooking. Sure you don’t have even a bit of that cursed maryoku?”

                “It’s just a boiled egg.” I keep my tone level and patient, not too welcoming but not too distant either. This man is a sergeant involved with royal security, after all. Before Conrad’s grand entrance, he was the closest thing I had to a bodyguard.

                “Hey, Gurie, I heard the lock on the staircase in the left wing has rusted off. No one ever goes there anyway, so do you think we could--?”

                Also, he has the very helpful habit of suggesting secret passages and hidden rendezvous points. Though I’d prefer it if he would stop winking at me like that—Doesn’t he know it makes him look like he’s got a seizure?

                “Sorry, sir, but I have to serve His Highness his tea…”

                When I get tired of the more direct approaches, playing hard-to-get works well sometimes too.

                “Aw, c’mon, the brat can wait a little longer--”

                And then he makes the mistake of trying to put his arm around my shoulder. Again.

                “—Oomph!”

                “Gosh, sorry, sir, I--”

                “It’s f-fine. H-heh, the little bugger’s getting restless, huh?” His voice sounds unnaturally high, unsurprising considering where I hit him this time. I still can’t believe that he actually buys what I said about my beating him up time and again being a reflex when the baby kicks. “So… can I get another one of those boiled eggs?”

                “Tomorrow, I promise.” I’ll have Conrad make a batch tonight. Surely even he can do that much…

                “Can’t I come over to your place?”

                Uh-oh, I almost smiled at the idea of him face-to-face with the Lion of Lutenberg. “But, uhm, you know, there’s…”

                “Oh, yeah. Your boyfriend.” He’s known all along that I have a man in my life –believe it or not, it’s pretty hard not to notice—but for washed-out army-rejects like him, the prospect of having to man it out over a pregnant chick gets his testosterone pumping in a way his almost-desk job doesn’t. Heh, wait till he sees what a real soldier can do, one that’s not sporting a maternity dress.

                I pause. Now, since when did I start not minding—even hoping that someone else would pick up my fights?

                I’ve always had to deal with slimeballs like this one when I’m on missions, but I’ve always dealt with them myself. Okay, maybe that’s another reason why the ‘defenseless’ part of my disguise never worked out, but hey, there’s only so much I can take before I throw ‘for the good of the mission’ out the window, together with the man harassing me at the moment. This time, however, it seems that I have someone else to do my dirty work for me.

                And that’s a real novelty, because I specialize in dirty work.

                I dodge a few more of the guard’s pick-up lines, he tries –and fails—to dodge a couple more of my hits. After a particularly brutal one to his solar plexus, he finally slinks off, and I actually have to stop for a breath. Damn, were these corridors always so long? Must be because I’m getting bigger…

                I absentmindedly rub my belly as I make my way to the youngest prince of Conanshia’s personal dining room.

                His Majesty Prince Ian is not only the youngest amongst his brothers, he’s also the scrawniest. Now, something I noticed about men over the years—when they choose a woman as well-endowed as I am, they’re either the type who likes to brag and compare body sizes, or the ones who need a little (or a lot) of pushing around in their lives. If the guard before has the ego of the former, the prince is a lampshaded example of the latter.

                “Gurie-chan,” he smiles with what is probably supposed to be reassurance as he ushers me in, taking the trolley away from my hands and sitting me down next to him. “You must be tired, here, have a seat.”

                “Thank you.” Though maybe you should’ve said that before you forced me into a chair.

                A rather awkward silence ensues, emphasized by the lack of any other servants in the room. Sneaky little thing, getting me alone yet acting too shy to make the first move. I help myself to some of the food we cooked for him as he plays around with his carrots, enjoying the peace and quiet for a while before I decide the atmosphere is just the right mix of awkwardness and sexual tension.

                “Your Highness…” I pause, looking at the ground to keep myself from laughing. Oh, if only the second son could see me now—even I didn’t know I could play the innocent girl act so well. “I… My fiancé…”

                “He’s here, isn’t he?” The prince is probably hearing some dramatically melancholic background music playing in his head, the way he puts down his spoon with a hilariously serious expression. “Does he know?”

                “Yes, and he…” I clap my hands around my mouth, shoulders shaking uncontrollably. “He proposed to me. He wants to get married and start a family.”

                The prince’s hand is trembling when he touches my shoulder, it probably being the first time he managed to touch a woman without having to bring out his title in a while. Or maybe he just got a kick out of seeing someone physically stronger than him act emotionally weaker? I’d suspected that was why he took a fancy to me, and my suspicions were reinforced when I heard he used to have the habit of pressing pins into buffed-up straw dolls.

                I’d feel almost sorry for him, the way he’s been overshadowed by his older brothers, jousted around and trampled underfoot when everyone is scrambling to grab a piece of the crumbling kingdom, if I didn’t come here with reliable intel saying he’s sent assassins after every other member of his family.

                Knowledge is power, folks. And with the knowledge I have about him and the rest of the royal family, I’ve devised the best way to use my assets to their fullest potential.

                “I said y-yes… because that’s what m-my family would want… But I-I know he doesn’t love me, h-he just treats me as a friend…”

                Well, at least that last part is true.

                “…A-and when I-I found out, I wanted to… g-get rid of it, I really did…”

                I’m just repeating what I told him before, but for some reason I don’t quite like having to say it again.

                “…T-then he went off to w-war, and I-I thought that I-I may never see him again… I… this baby… might be all that’s left…”

                The prince hands me a handkerchief, which I take to dab gracefully at my eyes, sniffling pathetically. Hmm, could I be overdoing it? I sneak a peek at Ian from behind the silk, and shudder a little at the look of wild desire he’s giving me when he thinks I’m not looking. Gross.

                But well, a girl’s gotta do what a girl’s gotta do. The more often I’m seen with him, the less likely I’ll get called out on when I’m sneaking around. It helps that the prince’s chambers are relatively close to, say, the official conference hall. More than once I’ve managed to eavesdrop on their conversation on the pretext of waiting for the youngest heir.

                “Shh, it’s okay…”

                At least he has a good poker face. Looking at him now, with his gentle smile and soothing words, it’s hard to believe that he may actually be the most dangerous of all his brothers—but only if you’re unaware of his true nature, of course. It really makes you wonder, huh, how even the best acting skills can’t keep you safe the way a good sword hand can.

                Funny, too, how they can be so different even though they’re all princes. I mean, look at him, and he’s already the smartest one in his family. His brothers may look tough, but they’re literally all brain and no brawn—trust me, I’m the last person who would judge someone based on their biceps alone. In comparison, my boss is more capable of running a country than all of them combined, and it sounds like Lord von Bielefelt has also matured into a good soldier and a wonderful consort.

                And before you say it’s just a Mazoku thing, Conrad—

                 “Gurie?”

                Shit, I wandered off again.

                “Sorry…”

                “I understand.” The prince gives me a toothy smile, reaching over to touch my belly and sending chills down my spine. “You’re being mean to Mama again, aren’t you, you wittwe coochie coo~”

                …Maybe it’s an age thing? Prince Ian may have turned forty-four last month, but now he sounds like an eight-year-old. I remember when Wolfram was forty, he _looked_ like an eight-year-old.

                Unconsciously my hand reaches down to my swollen stomach. What about--?

 

“Me?” Conrad glances over his shoulder at me, not seeming to notice that his soup is boiling over.  “When I was forty? Gurrier, are you feeling all right? Are you sick?”

                “Not yet, but I will be if you burn any more of that radish. Just answer the question already.”

                “We’re the same age, Gurrier. When I was forty, so were you.”

                “But that’s over sixty years ago, and my head’s feeling fuzzy, so remind me.”

                “Well, I think that’s when you wrestled your first Hell Paradise Goala in--”

                “Not that.” I pause. “How old did we… look?”

                “A few years older than His Majesty, probably. We grew up like normal human children until we turned 16, remember*? Then everything slowed down.”

                “…Yeah.” Of course I remember. As half-Mazokus go, that was normal. “What about… other mixed-bloods? Do they all age the way we do?”

                “It’s hard to tell, even pure-blooded Mazoku can age faster in some places compared to others. Although those half-Mazoku who choose their human side will most likely live and die like humans do…” He stops abruptly.

                “Captain?”

                This time, at least, he remembers to turn off the stove before turning around. “What are you worried about, Gurrier?”

                “Worried? Who said anything about--”

                “Is it the child?”

                I fall silent.

                “The father… is he from here?”

                “…I just got here two months ago.”

                It’s rare to see Conrad look as uncomfortable as he does now—maybe the last time was when he went on his first date, back when we were strapping young lads of, say, thirty. “But I heard… The youngest prince--”

                “--is a megalomaniac who has a fetish for buff chicks. Chill, did you think I’d let myself get laid by a human?”

                “…So the father is a Mazoku?”

                …I swear, this kid is purposely making me drop hints.

                Silence is gold in this case, so I pretend to sleep until dinner is served. Yup, there are the boiled eggs. I’m eyeing them craftily as I drink my soup, wondering how I can sneak one under my dress without him noticing, when he suddenly speaks up.

                “Is it Gwen?”

                I choke.

                He sounds so apologetic as he’s patting my back that I barely even have the heart to scold him, but surely, after five minutes in a panic and trying to get me to breathe, his head’s cleared up enough to know how stupid he sounded.

                “Lord Gwendal von Voltaire? Really? He only sleeps with kittens and soft toys!” Sad, but true.

                “Sorry, sorry,” he mumbles incoherently. I can’t see his expression of shame since he’s standing behind my chair, but I feel his hands move from my back to my shoulders, slowly but surely working through the knots in the muscles there. “If you don’t want to tell, I shouldn’t press you.”

                “Mm-hmm.” Yeah, that feels good. “Besides, you’re better off not knowing, trust me.”

                While he’s distracted, I should snitch an egg—

                “…So it’s Adalbert?”

                Somehow I manage to shatter a hard-boiled egg in my fist. And here I thought the baby was sapping me of my strength.

                “ _Where the hell did you get that idea from?!_ ”

                Isn’t von Grantz in Seisakoku with his mermaid son and Shinzoku granddaughters now*?! How the hell did we jump two continents and three generations away in one conversation?!

                “Sorry, sorry, I wasn’t thinking.” He puts more force into his fingers, hitting just the right spot. To my eternal embarrassment, I melt into putty in his hands. If this were any other time, if I was in any other condition—

                But in my job, ‘if’ is the last thing you think about. Ah, well, might as well enjoy this comfort while it lasts.

                “So that man is still your worst enemy, huh?” When I said he was ‘better off not knowing’, Lord Weller’s thoughts must have jumped right to his worst case scenario for him to even think of Adalbert von Grantz.

                “…He’s not my enemy.” Conrad’s words are deceptively light, while his grip tightens until it’s almost painful. “Just the person I owe the most to.”

                “Right.” See, I respect his privacy too. And I know that the sudden drop in the atmosphere at the mention of _that_ particular part of the Captain’s past, one of the few that I’m not directly involved in, isn’t just me. “Anyway, I barely know him, and it’s not like I’m so cheap I’d sleep with just anybody.”

                There, another hint. I resist the urge to rap my unborn baby. Happy?

                His hands go suddenly slack, leaving my shoulders aching but in a good way.

                “Don’t tell me it’s--”

                See, he finally got it. Heh, listen to him, he sounds like he’s being strangled with a clothes hangar. Told him he was better off not—

                “—His Majesty?”

                “……”

                “Gurrier? Why aren’t you saying anything? Oh my god, that means you--”

                I stand up, turn around, put both hands on his shoulders and  tell him solemnly, “Cap, I sincerely hope you regain your sanity before we get back to Shin Makoku, because the way I am now, I don’t think I can hold off your baby brother if you set him on me like that.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Also, I've started translating and hosting some chapters of the novel on Baka-tsuki! It's still really close to the bone, but heh, there's plenty to see there for those interested in knowing even more about this amazing canon :3


	10. Windows to the Soul

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is it, isn't it? I can't run away anymore, I can't pretend this is all just a big inconvenience. 
> 
> There's another life in my hands. When it thinks, does it know what I'm thinking? 
> 
> And if so, does it--?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Three hours late, gomen orz Going into the climax now, but somehow this story seems to have a longer falling action(?) than the previous one, so it's far from over~

Ten months ago, before I even knew I was expecting, I’d learned from Gisela that the first and last trimesters are the most crucial in any male Mazoku pregnancy. And my first three months were… eventful, to say the least.

                But that was the baby going easy on me. The moment I hit my last trimester, I just know it’s going to be hell.

                This child is a late bloomer, we’ve both noticed that. I mean, it wasn’t even showing until I boarded the ship to Conanshia, and then it hit an exponential growth spurt. By the time I set foot in this country less than a week later, it was making itself painfully obvious.

                And about one month after Lord Conrart Weller skipped his firstborn nephew’s naming ceremony, the torture began.

                “Gurie-chan…?”

                Lynn sounds confused when I drop the knife onto the tomatoes I just peeled and rush over to the nearest sink. I know this feeling, I wish I could forget it—

                Sure enough, less than a second later I’m hurling this morning’s breakfast into a basin full of soap.

                “…Was it something I made again?”

                A warm hand on my back, a worried and slightly wistful voice in my ear. I don’t know how he does it, but Conrad somehow manages to take all my jobs all around the palace and still magically appear behind me whenever something even feels marginally off.

                I shake my head irritably, not trusting myself to speak. His cooking has gotten better over the past month, I got to give him that much. And like I said, I know this feeling.

                A feeling that says no matter what I eat, or even if I eat nothing at all, I’m going to spend the rest of the day bent over a bucket.

                “Here, have some hot water.” Betty is by my side in an instant, patting my shoulder sympathetically. Normally she can barely reach my elbow, but the way she looks at me now makes me feel like a kid next to her. “Gurie-chan, how many months along are you?”

                “Ten.”

                “I thought so.” She nods sagely, then gives Conrad an accusing glare. “If the child were human you would be overdue by now. So this is the legendary fourth trimester, huh? Poor Gurie-chan.”

                “What happens during the fourth trimester?” Conrad asks worriedly, ignoring her obvious hostility. I roll my eyes, then remember that he was in charge of babysitting the king throughout his brother’s pregnancy.

                “How typical of you men,” she scoffs in an eerily Anissina-like way. “You have all the fun and leave all the work to the women. Don’t you think you should have looked into that _before_ you knocked her up?”

                When it becomes obvious that he isn’t going to defend himself, I sigh inwardly and risk opening my mouth again. “Betts, he didn’t kn—Mmrgh!”

                “No, no, it’s my bad, I should’ve checked.” The second son hastily refutes my good intentions, though hearing the ill-disguised panic in his voice I find it hard to get really pissed at him. “Please, tell me what you know.”

                His humility melts Betty somewhat. She folds her arms, trying and failing to look stern again as she says, “Well, I heard that generally the fourth trimester feels like the first, but worse.”

                “And…?”

                “That’s all I know.” This time even she looks a little sheepish. “We don’t see many Mazokus around here.” What she meant is they don’t generally welcome Mazoku, though half-bloods like us get cut a bit more slack. “Word on the street is that it’s because of the baby’s soul, or something, but that’s obviously hogwash.”

                Nope, it’s true. And the look of horror on Conrad’s face tells me that he knows that much, at least.

                After I empty all the contents of my stomach, practically everyone in the kitchen pushes me to the staff clinic for a rest. It’s proof of how distracted he is that Lord Weller takes me halfway there before I have to pull him into one of the hideouts that pervy guard told me about.

                “You’re not seriously thinking of bringing me to a check-up, are you? My disguise is good, but there are some things even I can’t hide when they really want to check, Cap.”

                His eyes widen when he finally realizes what I mean, the silver amongst the brown flickering uncertainly. “But… Shouldn’t you…?”

                I never noticed how expressive those eyes could be, those signature Weller eyes*. Lord Dunheely Weller had them too, but his silver wasn’t as pronounced. No, I should say they had been dimmed, by life lived and lives lost. Once, I had to watch as his son’s eyes steadily lost their glimmer as well, when we were both surrounded with so much red we could barely tell friend from foe.

                Now, since when had they started regaining a bit of their childhood brightness?

                “…Gurrier?”

                “Sorry, got sidetracked.” It’s a bad habit, one I sincerely hope I don’t keep after this child is born. “What were you saying?”

                “Nothing.”

                “You know when someone says nothing, what they actually mean is ‘nothing I want to bring up again on my own’, so spit it. I’m not in the mood to play guessing games.” Provided I can stay focused and nausea-free for long enough to hear him out in the first place.

                He bites his lip, hesitant. “These symptoms… they mean that your body is adjusting, right?”

                “Mm-hmm.”

                “So that means… that the baby has a soul now?”

                I freeze.

                That’s right… This child has a soul. It’s no longer just a bothersome piece of extra baggage slowing me down. It’s a whole new life, a whole new person, who can think, and feel…

                Does it know what I’m thinking?

                “Gurrier?”

                Can it feel what I’m feeling?

                “Gurrier!”

                The thought makes my throat seize up painfully. Does it—Does he or she—know what I—

                “Yozak Gurrier!”

                Conrad’s voice wakes me up from my trance, but when I look at him I see my face reflected in his eyes, dazed and scared and… close to tears…

                “Shh. It’s okay.” He grabs me by the shoulders and hugs me tightly. The same words, meaning nothing, but coming from him they’re like my lifeline, one which I cling onto desperately before I lose sight of myself. “Don’t worry, I’m here. I won’t let anything happen to you. To both of you.”

                “…But why? You don’t even know who the father is.”

                “It doesn’t matter.” His words are firm, and even if all I can see is the back of his head, I know his expression now is one of determination, the silver in his eyes shining like steel. “I thought it mattered, but now I know it doesn’t. I don’t know who the father is, Gurrier, and I don’t care. It’s your child, and that’s all I need to know.”

                I close my eyes, hating and hiding the tears that are threatening to spill over.

                You idiot… You don’t know, so why do you love this child more than I do? Why do you care more than I do?

                Why can you say, so confidently, that you’ll protect this child for me, when the greatest and only danger to its life… is me?

 

Thanks to that book, I still remember most of the symptoms that can be expected of the fourth trimester. Betty wasn’t wrong, but there was something she didn’t know—

                In these crucial last three months, a male pregnancy is more extreme, and therefore more dangerous than a normal one.

                My eyes flutter open to unfamiliar surroundings, my mind still too hazy to remember how I got here. And when I try to sit up, my body feels like a particularly stiff puppet I’m trying to control from a yard away using chopsticks and yarn.

                “Don’t worry, there’s no one here.”

                Well, that’s obviously not true.

                “Where are we?”

                “The staff clinic,” the second son says apologetically. “When you fainted in the kitchen, everyone insisted on helping me carry you here. But I told them you don’t like anyone touching your body, so the doctor left us alone.”

                Great, now what will they think?

                …What they’re supposed to think, right. Because of course I never let any of the girls get too close or see too much before, not unless I wanted to blow my cover and scar them for life. Shower room bonding sessions, for one, are completely out of the question.

                “What are you reading?”

                “Hmm, this?” He holds up what looks like a stack of papers bound together roughly by string. “Just some general information that might help.”

                My eyes narrow suspiciously. “Where did you get it from?”

                “A friend.”

                “As far as I recall, I’m the only friend you got here.” We have an embassy and an ambassador here too, of course, but the man is one of Stoffel’s closer cousins, and our mutual dislike is the least of the things he shares in common with Conrad’s uncle. He was informed that Lord von Voltaire sent one of his best to infiltrate the castle, and decided that he didn’t want to know anything about it, so he can ‘be innocent if things go wrong’. I wouldn’t have it any other way, and I’m sure the second son doesn’t want his relative knowing he’s here without an official reason, either. So these letters must be from—

                “Back home?” My tone turns strange. “Someone back home knows?”

                Of course, why else would he have come rushing here in such a panic? Someone must have told him something was wrong with me, though obviously that someone also neglected to mention the exact details. But the only one who knows should be Jenna, and she’s not close or fond enough of Lord Weller to tell him herself. Actually, she isn’t particularly fond of authority as a whole, and makes it a point to stay away from my contacts in the higher-ups whenever possible. The only one of my bosses that she seems okay with would be—

                “…the Young Master?”

                Conrad’s expression is proof enough.

                Well, fuck.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In the side novels, there's another 'Weller', a human born in Nazi Germany :3 This guy looks almost exactly like Conrad, with the same eyes, so I jumped to conclusions and decided that maybe it's a family thing~


	11. Decision and Determination

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It took me a while to notice it, but somewhere along the way, to me, you've become something more.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: character torture and cliffhanger(?)
> 
> And no, we haven't even gotten there yet :3

“Gurrier, slow down!”

                I ignore his frantic calls, marching resolutely and briskly down the corridors. Everyone else is staring, whispering, but I ignore them too, walking faster than I have since my belly started showing, and definitely faster than I should in my highly unstable fourth trimester.

                “Gurrier, please!”

                My head feels heavy, and there’s a strange tightness around my abdomen. Instinctively my hand flies to cradle my bump, but I keep my eyes steadily forward. My ears are ringing, almost drowning out his voice. When he finally manages to touch my shoulder, I push him away.

                I need to get away from here, I need to calm down… Even I know that something’s wrong with me, with the emotions surging up uncontrollably, but I’m powerless to stop it. All I can do is run, as fast as I dare, as far as I dare, before I can even begin to face what’s happening.

                _He knows. The king knows._

Eventually the captain stops making a scene of himself, but I know that he’s just a few steps behind me. I can feel his gaze on the back of my head, as though he’s afraid to look away for even a fraction of a second, lest I disappear from his sight forever. He wasn’t kidding when he said he wasn’t going to leave me alone. And I should be glad to have someone like him watching my back.

                Instead, I just want to curl up somewhere and hide, because I can’t stand the way he looks at me anymore.

                Our wordless game of cat and mouse lead us out of the palace, past the city, and into the woods. I’m just letting my feet taking me wherever they will, since my brain hasn’t yet caught up with reality. Once I’m back in my living room, I just stand there, staring into space.

                A creak, a click. The second son has closed the door behind him, his voice quiet and gentle against the absolute silence in my world right now.

                “Gurrier, what’s wrong?”

                “He knows…” The words are chasing themselves around my mind. They mean something. Something I don’t want to acknowledge.

                “It’s okay, he won’t tell anyone.” But even as he says it, Conrad knows it isn’t true. He’s here, isn’t he? That means the young king told him, at least, even if he didn’t state the details. That means…

                _He knows. He knows that Conrad is—_

The feeling curling deep within my stomach is more than just despair now. It’s like someone’s stuck a finger down my throat and kept it there. I would throw up, if I had anything to throw up, but first I had to remember how to breathe.

                “Gurrier, calm down!” Conrad grabs me by the shoulders, the only thing that’s holding me up now. “Why are you reacting like this? So what if he knows? Yuuri won’t hurt you or the baby, you know that!”

                He won’t, of course he won’t. Our young double-black king, who still has that innocence we gave up decades ago. Who wouldn’t voluntarily hurt a fly, who would choose to sacrifice himself over starting a conflict every time, who would help anyone in need of trouble, even if it went against his very soul*. Who cried at any lives lost, no matter how badly he’s been hurt.

                That boy knows what I tried to do.

                I gag, clapping my hand over my mouth. But the warm metallic liquid spills out through my fingers anyway, staining the horrified Conrad’s clothes bright red.

                What will he think? What does he think? Of the person who tried to kill his own child—

                _“Gurrier!”_

                The person who’s still trying to give his child away.

                _“Gurrier, what’s happening?!_ ”

                Now that he knows, there’s no way he’ll let me do it, is there? I close my eyes. What kind of expression will he greet me with when I get back?

                Can I go back?

                Dare I go back?

                And that’s when the pain hits me.

                _“Gurrier!”_

The poor second son, he can’t do anything other than yell my name over and over again as I crumple to the floor, like a puppet’s whose strings were suddenly and brutally cut. The pain is ten, no, a hundred times worse than last time, reminding me how much the one inside me has grown. Ten months. For ten months it resisted everything I tried to get rid of it. For ten months it has had to fight for its life, before it’s even born, against the person who gave it its damned life in the first place.

                Not even demons do that to their young. Not even soldiers have to fight those odds. It’s too cruel.

                Tears are mingling with the blood on my face as I clutch my stomach tightly, mouth wide open in a silent scream. Too early, it’s too early! If it’s born now, with its soul still unstable—If it’s born here, with my emotional state the way I am—!

                It won’t survive. I’ll really have succeeded in killing my own child.

                _“Hang in there, please!”_

Conrad’s voice sounds like it’s coming from a thousand miles away, even as he half-carries me to the bed. The movement sends another jolt of pain shooting up my spine, and this time I find my voice to scream. I’d push him away again, chase him out of my life forever for putting us through this, but right now it’s all I can do to keep my mind intact in the dark red world of pain, pain, and more pain.

                My body is hurting beyond what I thought was physically possible. My heart is hurting more than I even dreamed was humanly possible.

                “…it’s my fault…”

                I’m sobbing, losing control like I never had since I left the concentration camps of Big Shimaron behind, not even at my mother’s funeral. If I died now, would I have the face to meet her? Would I have the right to face my baby?

                My baby is dying because it knows. It knows I never wanted it, it’s giving up on the worst mother in the world. I’ve given it nothing but pain and misery, and rather than being born into a world where no one loves it, it’s giving up on life. It’s finally giving up on me.

                It’s going to leave me, just like everyone else will once they find out what I’ve done.

                “No, no, don’t say that!” Someone grips my hand so tightly it hurts, the heat from his touch reaching me through the thin veil of crimson that’s begun to envelop me whole. His words are fiercely determined, the only sound that can pierce through the rush of blood in my ears, the despair in my heart.

                 “It’s not your fault, it’s no one’s fault. There’s nothing to blame anyone for, because it’s not over, you hear me? It’s not over!”

                How can he sound so confident? How can he still be so calm? A single lucid thought appears in my mind. Compared to what he’s gone through, compared to what he’s lost, this is nothing. He never asked to be born as one of the Forbidden Keys, destined to be used by others in their bid for power. He never asked to be sent into a battle he wasn’t expected to survive from. He never asked to fall in love, fighting tooth and nail to be able to return to her, only to find that he had lived while she had not.

                I look through my pain-filled haze for his eyes, and find the turbulence I’m feeling reflected in them, as though our worlds have been thrown into a whizzing whirlpool of emotions. No, he’s not confident. No, he’s not calm. He’s close to tears and scared beyond his wits.

                _“Please… I can’t lose anyone else…”_

I’ve never seen him this scared before. Not in the face of treacherous palace politics, not in the middle of an enemy ambush, not at his first true love’s grave. There was despair then, and hatred, maybe, but never fear. The Lion of Luttenberg never showed anyone his fear.

                _“I can’t lose you…”_

                My right hand is coated with sweat, but at least it feels like my own as I slowly, agonizingly, lift it to touch his face. _Captain_ , I want to say, _stop looking like that. It doesn’t suit you._

                He’s my fearless captain-- always making the tough decisions, leading the way, shielding his men with his body.

                _“I love you…_ ”

                Huh, would you fancy that.

                _“Don’t do this to me…_ ”

                I think again of Suzannah Julia von Wincott. To be honest, I never liked her. What she and Lord von Grantz had was real, or at least that’s what Adalbert thought. I even heard that she was the one who suggested the engagement*, and I’d like to think she meant it when she did. So what was that, what was it that existed between the second son and her?

                He loved her, that I know. He loved her, and she let him go.

                I grip his hand back with all the strength I have, closing my eyes and feeling through the pain for the tiny spark of life deep within my belly.

                See, Julia? He’s moved on now, and I won’t make the mistakes you made. I’m not letting go of him, and I’m not letting go of our child either.

                He can’t lose anyone else, so I’ll make sure he doesn’t.

                _I’m sorry._

                I cross my legs tightly together.

                _Mama was an idiot._

                I’m not letting you go anywhere anymore.

                _Forgive me, please?_

For him, and for me, too. It took me a while to realize it, but I can’t lose you, either.

                _Stay with your stupid Mama, just for a while longer. Please?_

I’m begging you.

                Conrad is whispering nonsensical nothings into my left hand, tears streaming steadily down his face now. It’s so unbecoming of a man who has survived all that he has, of the father of my child. I just want to reach out again, to wipe those tears off his face and tell him to snap out of it, but slowly my right hand slips…

                And then suddenly I feel a rush of energy, my hand rocketing back up and slapping him hard across the left cheek, seemingly out of its own accord.

                Well, he’s stopped crying, at least. Now he just looks shocked, and it’s enough to lift the corners of my lips even as the lids of my eyes fall slowly shut.

                Heh, see?

                Even your child can’t stand the sight of you crying.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah, I never liked Julia either. The story between her and Adalbert is almost bittersweet, and Lord von Grantz is actually deceptively innocent in love. The way he talks about her is like how a boy talks about his goddess-- though only when he's drunk, of course. Out of the three people in this frankly annoying love triangle, I have to say I sympathize with him the most :'(
> 
> Thankfully he's gotten his happy ending(?!) though~


	12. The Way It Was Always Meant to Be

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things really are much simpler once you get out of denial.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One breather chapter before the next stage of the adventure(?)~

I’m woken up four days later by an impatient kick from within.

                Okay, okay already… You’re hungry, I get it. Time to get up, then.

                In these past few days, my body has adjusted perfectly to the weight of the new sentient soul inside me. We’ve struck a pretty good balance, and once I stopped being stubborn and accepted it, things got significantly simpler. Unlike Lord von Bielefelt, I don’t have an ounce of maryoku, after all. And considering who the kid’s parents are, I highly doubt it does either.

                Come to think of it, any problems I had were probably purely psychological. My child must have picked up on the negative vibe and got upset, that’s all.

                In other words… I was being a stubborn ass. Sorry, baby.

                In lieu of reply, I get a friendly kick. Heh, it’s really gotten active recently, hasn’t it? And it _feels_ healthy too. Don’t ask me why, I just know.

                I swing my legs off the side of the bed—and step on Lord Conrart Weller.

                …Seems like he finally got tired of sleeping on the couch, though I don’t see how a mat on the floor can be any comfier. And I’ll bet every dress in my closet that he’ll hit his head on that table when he gets up.

                I carefully step over him, maneuvering around my unwieldy belly. I swear, it’s gotten even bigger while I was sleeping… but I’m not unduly worried, because even if I can’t see my toes, I remember exactly where they are and how to use them.

                By the time I’ve made my way to the stove and realized I’ve been subconsciously humming a tune the Young Master taught me, my suspicions are confirmed: I feel better than I ever did since I conceived. No, I feel even better than I did _before_ I conceived.

                Sure, I must be at least twenty pounds heavier, and three times as wide, but there’s just something—some energy buzzing beneath my skin that makes me feel positively radiant.

                I’d skip to the fridge if I could lift my feet any higher than my bloated ankles, so I settled with a rhythmic shuffle instead.

                All of a sudden, I have a craving from fried pressed goat milk… But since that’s Jenna’s specialty, I’ll have to settle with an omelet then.

                My stomach whimpers, and I know my baby agrees with me. I’m still trying to figure out if it’s a boy or a girl—Conrad said Wolfram knew almost immediately, but I keep drawing a blank. It’s active, with something of a temper, but at the same time it’s sensitive, and gets easily emotional…

                As though reading my thoughts, it stomps on my bladder irritably.

                Soon the fragrance of frying egg and sizzling of hot oil waft throughout the house. He should be awake in five, four, three, two—

                “Gur—Ow!”

                By the sounds of it, he punched a hole through the lightwood with his forehead.

                “Over here,” I call into the living area, as though he wouldn’t have assessed the situation and come to the same conclusion in half a second. Yup, he’s in the kitchen before the words leave my mouth, his expression frozen into one of wide-eyed panic.

                My hearts twinges a little in my chest. He looks utterly exhausted, his nerves clearly frayed and this close to shorting out altogether. While I was happily dreaming away and bonding with my baby, he must have been worried sick.

                Even now, he hovers in the doorway, torn between throwing himself at me and pinching himself to prove that it’s not just a dream.

                What do I say to him now? “It’s okay”? “I’m fine now, so you don’t have to worry”? It’s the truth, but if I know anything about him at all, I know it won’t be enough.

                I sigh. “Sit down. Breakfast will be ready in a while.”

                “…Okay.”

                At times like these, it’s best to give him clear instructions, then convey what I mean to say through my actions.

                Turning back to the stove, I flip the omelet with one hand and reach for the dishes with another. While four days ago I would’ve been afraid to stretch so far, today my fingers find their destination without me even having to look. Heh, I wonder how Conrad will react if I suddenly start practicing with my sword?

                My baby gives my ribs a warning nudge. Yeah, right. Of course I’m kidding.

                “Order up.” I slide his plate down the table, confident that he’ll catch it. For a while we eat in silence, until I start humming again, this time the folksong from Van der Via.

                And then, slowly, he starts humming with me.

 

He probably thinks I don’t remember his stirring confession, and I’m happy to keep it that way. Just because I acknowledge the way he feels, doesn’t mean I’m ready to start choosing out curtains yet.

                You feel that way, too, don’t you? I rub my belly contentedly. For now it’s just the two of us, and that’s a special sort of bliss.

                The only thing that’s changed is that the Captain now refuses to sleep on the couch anymore. I’d let him share the bed –goodness knows nothing’s going to happen there—if there weren’t barely enough space for me as it is. Once we’ve moved away the remnants of the table, he takes up permanent residence by the foot of my bed, joking that we’ve slept on far worse terrain.

                I wait one day before suggesting that we return to the palace, hoping that 24 hours is enough to convince him that I really do feel fine. And when I do, over dinner, he just raises that one scarred eyebrow, shrugs once, and goes back to his pasta.

                “See the difference between your skills and mine?” I tease, feeling rather pleased with myself.

                “There’s no comparing,” comes his solemn reply. Then his lips curve a little, as though unconsciously, “I wouldn’t mind eating this for the rest of my life.”

                Okay, so the sleeping arrangement isn’t the only thing that’s changed. I’ve heard his infamous pick-up lines before, but I never thought that one day they’d be so callously directed at me.

                Look at him, I grumble to my child as I stroke my stomach. So irresponsible. Doesn’t he know that simply throwing lines like that is bad for the heart?

                The next morning I make it a point to deliberately step on his hand on my way to the washroom.

 

“Gurie-chan!”

                Lynn almost pounces on me as soon as I step into the sprawling palace kitchens, but Conrad gives her a Look that sends her into emergency brake. The sound her heels make as they scrape the floor make me wince, and in retaliation I elbow the second son in the side, causing him to double over.

                Hmph, I know I didn’t hit that hard. Ignoring his futile attempts to gain my sympathy, I stride over and embrace Lynn properly.

                “We were so worried,” she sniffles as soon as my arms are firmly around her. “We visited you once, but no matter what we said you didn’t even budge. If we didn’t look closely to see that you were still breathing, we really would’ve thought that you—you--”

                “I’m fine now,” I reassure her, patting her on the back a little too firmly. Unlike Conrad over there, girls like her need to hear the words before they can even start to relax. “Sorry for worrying you, all of you.”

                It seems like that’s all I’ve been doing recently.

                “You sure look okay.” Betty looks me up and down with her critical eye. “Honestly, you look great. I wasn’t sure when Connie told me you had a secret doctor, but I see now that whoever it is, they sure know their stuff.”

                I give her a sheepish smile, reaching for my stomach instinctively. Yeah, my doctor is the best. I should have figured that out a long time ago.

                “Take it easy for now, we handled things just fine without you, so you can just peel the carrots over there and stay out of our way.” As she herds me over to my station, though, she whispers in my ear, “And try to spare that man of yours any more heartache, will you? When we dropped by, the poor thing looked like his world was on the verge of collapsing.”

                I grin in spite of myself. “I thought you didn’t like him.”

                “It takes a real crisis to know someone,” she admits. “Why do you think we didn’t visit you every day, or at least set another woman to watch over you? Even when we’re there, Gurie-chan, he only has eyes for you. It feels almost sacrilegious, getting in between the two of you.”

                “Now you’re just exaggerating.” I know I’m trying to run away from the problem again, and even if I don’t my baby helpfully reminds me by poking a fist up my diaphragm, but I really don’t feel like dealing with this right now. Is it that bad to want to keep things the way they are for a while longer?

                I’m not ready with my answer, and he’s not waiting for it, either. Instead of risk it all at a time when neither of us are obviously at our most logical, why not take it slow and see what happens? That’s what our long lives are for, right?

                “Gurie!”

                A familiar voice booms down the corridors, and then the kitchen doors fly open.

                It’s him again, that pervy guard. I curse inwardly as he marches towards me, sending pots and pans and chickens flying everywhere, undoing an entire morning’s worth of hard work. Has he any idea how much trouble these good people go through every day to prepare those meals?

                I roll up my sleeves. Brace yourself, baby, and remember to always appreciate your food.

                He’s two feet away from me when I swing my fist at him, only to miss my target and very nearly lose my balance. Someone grabs firmly from behind, the same person who lifted the guard up by the collar like a Chihuahua.

                “Be careful,” Conrad chides me sternly. “You’re not supposed to get into any fights, remember?”

                Oh, yeah, I almost forgot ‘defenseless’ was supposed to be part of my cover.

                I wince a little and hang my head, allowing him to chuckle before pressing a kiss into my hair. We’re acting, remember? All for the sake of the show.

                “Good girl. Now stay here while I take out the trash.”

                Should I tell him to go easy on my important informant? I consider it absentmindedly as I peel my second bucket of carrots. Then the head chef claps his hands loudly, calling me out of my trance and making my decision for me.

                “Listen up, team. I just got news from His Highness Prince Ian. All the royal heirs will be gathering here soon to discuss import’nt matters, so we gotta start preparing a menu fit for the kings, got it?”

                Amidst the rousing cheers from the kitchen staff, I mentally cross the poor guard off my plans. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So just after I promised some of you that there should be daily updates until the end of this story, I remember that I got a trip planned to a place where the internet status remains unknown... There should be an update tomorrow, but after that I may have to take a two or three day break, gomen... orz


	13. Moment of Truth

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When you're waiting for something to happen, nothing does.
> 
> Then when everything happens at once, you know that the shit's hit the fan.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tentatively putting the end of the story at Chapter 18... and yes, I guess I'll confirm Part 4...

When they said ‘soon’, what they really meant was ‘two months from now’.

                Conrad did the maths in an instant.

                “No.”

                “Aww, come on, Captain, at least let me see this through!”

                “I’m taking over.”

                “After all the time and effort I put into it? That’s not fair!”

                “My point exactly!” He grabs me by the shoulders, suddenly agitated. “You’ve already suffered too much for this mission, and I’m not going to let you risk anything more! This has gone beyond your orders, soldier!”

                “My orders were very clear, sir.” I let some of my annoyance creep into my voice, but he effectively snuffs that out when he rests his forehead on my shoulder, his voice trembling.

                “I know Gwendal will agree with me completely if he were here, but he’s not, and I know I have no authority over your actions. But please—just let me do this, as your friend?”

               I bite my lip, but it’s futile. All my attempts at resisting go out the window when my baby nudges my ribs pleadingly.

                “Fine, you can help. But I get to decide whether or not I’ll be fit for action, got it? If in two months’ time I feel like I’m still up for it, I’m coming along no matter what you say.”

                I puff up my increasingly considerable chest, another plus point that came with being pregnant. Heh, can’t wait to see the look on little Anini’s* face when the next time she sees me~ Anyway, I got distracted. “Yozak Gurrier never does things halfway. It’s a matter of honor.”

                He finally cracks a small smile. “We’ll see if you’re still so confident two months from now.”

                That’s right, by some mean twist of fate, the conference coincides with my due date. Maybe it’s because we’re on human soil, and the gods the humans worship here aren’t too fond of us traitors*. Or maybe it’s just classic aristocratic tardiness, as though it really takes two months to travel to the capital from whichever corner of the country they happen to be hiding in. I’ve sort of gotten numb to it, though. For every such event, there will always be one or two nobles arriving ‘fashionably late’, just to satisfy their pathetic feelings of self-importance when the entire night is held up for them, or all eyes in the hall follow their dramatic entrances.

                To me, it’s usually a good opportunity to sneak down more of those canapés. This time, though, I can’t be bothered. Since I’m directly involved with the preparation of the food, I’ve already sampled everything on the menu, and even contributed to a few courses myself.

                “Can’t help those cravings, huh?” Betty goes easy on me when she catches me struggling with my huge belly in order to reach into the cookie batter. “Don’t eat too much of it, it’s not good for the baby when it’s raw.”

                So when the first batch comes out of the oven, I get the tasting honors. My conclusion? This little one doesn’t really care if it’s cooked or not.

                With one month left to the moment of truth --in more ways than one—I’m the only one still insisting that I come to work. Everyone else seems reluctant to let me do much of anything, and Conrad… Well, he’d probably lock me into my own house and throw away the key if he wasn’t worried that I’d do something reckless if he did, such as knock down the door or try to climb out through the window.

                Smart guy.

                Another legitimate reason I have is that I still need to keep up contact with Prince Ian. Although we decided that the conference would be the ideal opportunity to determine once and for all what Conanshia has in mind for our country, the youngest prince’s personal opinion isn’t completely redundant yet. Like I said, he would make a shady ally but an even more formidable foe, and besides, the closer I get to him, the more access I’ll have on the day of the conference.

                Once, I even try to suggest that I be the one to serve him on the big day, citing curiosity of his brothers, with plenty of subtle submission and ‘Oh but I’m sure they can’t be as capable as you are, Highness’s.

                He pretends to consider it, basking in the compliments as he casually puts his hand on my stomach. I can feel the child inside me tense and hold absolutely still, as though resisting the urge to kick away that repulsive touch and give him the satisfaction of having elicited a reaction out of it.

                Smart kid, too, though I like to think that it got that part from me.

                “How many months?”

                “…Eleven and a half,” I admit reluctantly. Physically, I look like the equivalent of a human woman at eight, but there’s no point in telling lies that will easily be discovered with a little bit of research. Or, most probably, he has already dug up all the dirt he can on me.

                As though to prove my point, his look of surprise is rather blatantly fake. “Then you’ll be due soon? You should be staying at home and resting now, not volunteering for more work! Have you found a midwife yet? If you want, I can send the royal--”

                “No, no, it’s fine,” I reject him hurriedly. Are you kidding me? The poor human will probably faint the moment she flips up my dress, and then we might actually have to silence her while she’s down. Not exactly a cheerful way to welcome a new life into the world. “You know… my fiance… he’s a little protective.”

                Hey, it’s the truth!

                “Still, he shouldn’t risk your health for his own foolish pride.”

                I send out a silent apology to the second son for ruining his good name. Though since neither of us are using our real names now, it probably doesn’t matter.

                And speaking of whom—

                Half a month later, Lord Weller has amassed enough letters from home to recreate the entire encyclopedia.

                At one point I got fed up with him looking out the window every five seconds to see if the pigeons have returned, so I lent him some of my special Red Pigeons* instead. Three times the speed, and if they happened to get confused once in a while and merge into another flock—Well, he has so many notes now, he probably won’t even notice if a couple are missing.

                Right now, for instance, he’s reading an article dubiously titled ‘Delivering a Mazoku Baby the Other Way’.

                “Come on, I thought you helped deliver your baby brother?”

                “That’s completely different, and you know it.” He looks up from his research, frowning slightly. “How can you be so calm? You should be due any moment now.”

                I shrug. “Who knows? Maybe the baby’s not ready yet. By the way, I heard that the last prince arrived at the castle yesterday. Do you think they might bring the conference forward now that they’re all gathered?”

                “Probably not, why?” His eyes narrow suspiciously at me, the silver flecks reflecting the flames dancing in the fireplace. “Don’t tell me you’re still thinking of going?”

                I hold up my hands, protesting my innocence. “We agreed that if I feel up to it, I can go, remember?”

                “Gurrier, you could go into labor anytime now!”

                “Yeah, well, anytime doesn’t mean now. Until then, I’m fit to go.” I thump my chest reassuringly. “See? Perfectly functional.”

                But instead of being reassured, he looks, if that is possible, even more suspicious. “Do you know something I don’t?”

                “No,” I lie through my teeth. Normally I could tell a lie like this without batting an eyelid, but this time my hand reaches for my stomach almost guiltily. To Conrad, it’s a simple and natural action for someone so close to delivery after such a long and eventful pregnancy, but only I know how much I’m asking from my child. After all that’s happened, I have no right to ask anything of it, and to be honest I’m not altogether sure if it even heard me in the first place.

                “Something the matter?”

                “Nah… it’s just that, the baby’s gotten kinda quiet recently.”

                Conrad smiles at the worry I can’t keep completely out of my voice. “Relax, it’s just saving up its energy for the big day, that’s all. There’s nothing at all wrong with it.”

                “You read that in an article somewhere?” I retort, though my tone comes off slightly defensive.

                “Do you want to read it? It’s mentioned here—and here—oh, and here’s a study about how the trend of change in the child’s activity is inversely proportional to the amount of time left until delivery--”

                I groan, falling back into my chair and putting an arm over my eyes. The conference is scheduled for two days from now, and in my opinion, it can’t come soon enough.

 

In the end, two days were stretched into two weeks. So typical of stuffy nobility.

                Meanwhile, the former prince of the Shin Makoku beside me has thrown all his self-awareness as a member of the aristocracy to the winds, submitting completely to his growing alarm.

                “You’re overdue, aren’t you? Should we do something? What should we do? Why can’t I find the article about what to do?!”

                Wherever that particular pigeon went, I sincerely hope it’s happy. “Chill, Cap. Late bloomer, remember? Maybe it just needs a bit more time. Right now, though, we have somewhere else to be.”

                He gives a yelp not unlike that of a startled puppy, but by then he has no choice except to follow me out of the house.

                “Gurrier, this is crazy! You can’t possibly sneak into a top secret conference the way you are now!”

                “Oh-ho, you’ve crossed the line now, Lord Weller.” I keep my voice level and try to hide the fact that I’m breathing a little harder than normal. “Challenge accepted.”

                “No! Wait!”

                He catches up to me easily, but he’s too scared to use any force on me now, and words alone won’t dissuade me from my mission. An hour later, we’re both in the dusty attic directly above the conference room --location courtesy of the former place guard and current hospital patient-- peeking through a crack in the wooden floorboards.

                Correction, I’m the one watching the meeting, the second son just lowers his volume and keeps on nagging me, occasionally throwing the crowd downstairs a distracted glance when he hears something noteworthy.

                “—now, about the Shin Makoku--”

                I hold up a finger to shush him, pleased to see that once his beloved country is involved, he puts his game face back on.

                “I say we’ve taken enough humiliation from those demons!” One of the burlier princes growls, pounding a fist that looks like it can concuss an elephant onto the poor marble table. Tsk-tsk, these people have no appreciation for art at all. “They think they can oppress us just because they have those unholy powers? Well, we may be weaker, but in numbers we are far superior! Let’s see them fight against the combined might of us humans, favored by the divine gods above!”

                “Don’t be foolish, brother!” argues another. “We are barely holding our own as it is. How can we hope to fight a faraway enemy when we have to be wary of our nearest neighbors?”

                “They’re each out for themselves,” Conrad murmurs. “Some of them want to make a name on the battlefield so that the people will support them in their bid for the throne, while those who are less confident of their standing would rather keep things the way they are.”

                “…Yeah.” My reply is delayed by half a second, but just when he’s about to question me about it, Prince Ian speaks up beneath us.

                “Actually, I agree with Brother Charles. The human countries are turning onto each other because they feel threatened by the Shin Makoku, but cannot do anything about it with their power alone. While the demons are held in check by their new pacifist king, our neighbors wish to strengthen their own forces until the inevitable next clash.”

                Both Conrad and I take a sharp breath, though for different reasons. He’s a hundred per cent focused on the meeting now, and although it’s no big secret, the fact that they know about our young king’s peaceful nature is never a good thing if they plan to exploit it.

                As for me—I hold my breath as an invisible hand squeezes my abdomen, blowing the air out of my lungs a little louder than usual when it finally fades. It started three days ago, and at first the contractions were few and hours apart. Even I’m slightly surprised by how well I managed to hide them from Conrad.

                Seeing how focused he is on Ian’s words, I might still be able to keep it from him until we’ve safely completed this mission.

                “—That’s why we should give them a common enemy to focus on.”

                Shit. I gasp, at the implication behind his suggestion and at the new wave of pain sweeping upwards from my belly. That was fast. This time, Conrad shushes me, his eyes trained on the foreign prince in the middle of his speech.

                “Why fight amongst ourselves when we can band together to face the greater evil? Once the threat of the demons is no longer looming large over our necks, I’m sure we can—Eh? Is there a leak in the roof?”

                Ian glances upwards, and Conrad pulls me away from the crack just in time.

                “A leak?” he echoes. “But it’s not even raining. Shit, they’re coming up to check—But why?"

                “Sorry, my fault.” My expression is sheepish but my voice comes out rather strangled.

                He looks confused, his mind probably still processing the idea of a whole new war on the horizon when the scars of the old one have just begun to heal. “Huh?”

                I clear my throat. “My water broke.”

                Just like that, his confusion turns to horror.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1\. Yes, Yozak does call Anissina 'Anini', and yes, they do compare breast sizes(?!). Well, according to Yozak at least. He told Yuuri that men easily get a C cup, heh~ And when Yuuri asks if they're secretly dating, his answer is, 'Of course we're not secretly dating!' Makes you wonder if it's just the 'secretly' part he's denying~
> 
> 2\. That's the explanation for why the Mazoku get ill on human land, but when Yuuri suggests that Wolf and Gunter have it particularly bad because of their powerful maryoku, Yozak just looks at him all complicatedly and says, 'Someday you'll understand.' Hmm, fishy...
> 
> Hopefully there won't be a hiatus, but chances are high orz I'll try to keep writing, though, hopefully there'll be multiple chapters to post when I get back~


	14. It's Nice to Finally Meet You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Some things don't need to be said. Others do.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> POV change at the end, I'm guessing there's no need to say who ;)

“Okay, calm down…”

                “I’m very calm!”

                “No, you’re not! Now take a deep breath--”

                “I remember how to breathe, thank you very much!”

                “Don’t yell at me,” I finally snap. “I’m the one going into labor here!”

                The reminder drains all the blood out of Conrad’s face. “Oh, god… Now? Here?”

               “Yes, now, and like hell not here!” Steps are thundering up the ladder to the attic, and I grab the second son’s hand, leading him back to the secret staircase we took to get up here. “And if you try to tell me to ‘hold it in’ or something stupid like that, so shoot me, I’ll throw you out the window and use your body to cushion my fall!”

                “You can’t jump from here!” he yelps as we run, snapping the trapdoor shut behind us just as the first soldier pokes his head into the attic. It’s only a matter of time before they discover the way we left, and though at first I had to drag Conrad to me, eventually I become the one slowing him down.

                “Jozak--!”

                “Go!” I hiss, forcing my legs to work through the pain. “At least get us out of here!”

                He looks like he wants to lift me into a princess carry, but considering our body sizes were similar even before I swelled up like a balloon, he has to settle with throwing my arm around his shoulder and taking some weight off my feet.

                “You’re—heavy!”

                “That’s a really mean thing to tell a g—Mmrgh!”

                I squeeze my eyes tightly shut as the next contraction hits me, lasting even longer than usual. Until it fades, I rely on Conrad to lead the way, letting him take me where he will and trusting him to keep me from stumbling. As such, I have absolutely no clue how far we’d gone or where we were until—

                “ _Stop!_ ”

                “What? But they might still--”

                “I said, stop!” A cold sweat had broken over my brow, along with the alarming need to push. _“The baby’s coming!”_

                Lord Weller’s body gives a great shudder under mine, his sprint slowing to a jog and finally, after a few more turns, a stop. I know he probably took those few precious seconds to find us a better hiding spot, but for every moment I spent on my feet, I could feel the child’s head inching closer down my pelvis.

               Well, you sure have great timing, I think in exasperation. But I know I can’t blame you—You’ve waited long enough.

                “Gurrier?” Connrad’s voice sounds almost timid. “Are you okay?”

                “What did I—aargh—say about—mmmrgh--stupid questions?”

                A warm hand wipes some of the sweat away from around my eyes, so I can open them and look straight into Conrad’s, brown and silver both bright with worry. “I know, but…” He smiles a little weakly. “You’re grinning.”

                “Well, yeah, the faster I get this thing out of my body, the be--” The rest of my sentence is cut off when I clamp my mouth shut to stop myself from screaming aloud, digging my fingers so deeply into his shoulder that I hit bone.

                “Josak!”

                It hurts, it hurts, _god it hurts_ … But even as I grit my teeth together in pain, I know that I’m still grinning that crazy grin, and it’s driving Conrad mad.

                When the pain peaks, I force myself to grab a fistful of his hair, but once it gets to more tolerable levels, my hands fly instinctively to my stomach. There are so many things I want to say to my kid once it’s born—Thanks for putting up with me, sorry for making you wait. But most of all, I’m just unbelievably excited to welcome it into the world, to see its face, to hear its voice.

                My arms are already aching to feel its weight, and warmth.

                For once Conrad does something without having to be asked, lifting my dress gingerly to see how far along I am. I can finally focus for long enough to note that we are back in the forest, hiding in a bear cave I found behind some bushes months ago, when there’s an intake of breath so sharp it echoes on the walls.

                “I can see the head!”

                “No kidding.” I try to sound sarcastic, but underneath the bone-dead physical weariness, my heart is trembling with anticipation. “Its hair—Can you see its hair?”

                “Yeah, but it’s too bloody for me to tell the color…” His hands gently push my legs further apart, and I realize that he’s shaking too, though probably for different reasons. “But why…? Shouldn’t it take longer than this…?”

                I fidget guiltily, deciding to never tell him that the labor pains had in fact started three days ago, but then another contraction blows all rational thought out of my mind.

                “That’s it—push! Breathe, breathe—push!”

                Either this part is the same for both male and female pregnancies, or those articles really know what they’re talking about. All of a sudden, Conrad’s voice sounds confident, his hands feel steady. It’s as though in those few seconds he had made a decision, because I know exactly how he’s like once he makes up his mind.

                When he’s unsure, or uncertain, he can be indecisive to the point it’s infuriating, hurting himself and others unnecessarily in the process. I still haven’t forgiven him for what he put the Young Master through, by the way, whatever his reasons were. But once he’s made his decision, he sticks by it with a single-mindedness that’s almost scary. I’ve definitely seen more than one of his enemies wet themselves in the face of that determination.

                “Okay, breathe—breathe—push!”

                “Mmmng—aargh!”

                He was hesitating before. I don’t know why, or what made him change his mind.

                “You’re almost there! One more time—push!”

                _“Aaaaargh--!”_

                But now he’s decided that he will do everything in his power to help me deliver this baby.

                And I’m glad.

                “The head’s out! Just once more, Josak!”

                There’s no one else I’d rather have.

                “ _Push!_ ”               

                A baby’s energetic wail pierces through the silence of the night, so loud I’m positive the soldiers can hear it all the way from the palace. But my heart is bursting with too much happiness and pride to care about that now. The little bastard’s got a healthy set of lungs, and it sure isn’t afraid to let the world know it’s finally here.

                “It’s a girl.” Conrad’s voice is gentler than I’ve ever heard it, and I just know that he’s looking at my baby—my daughter. I try to get up for a better look, my vision blurred with sweat and exhaustion, but he holds me down firmly as he unsheathes his sword. For an insane moment there I am struck with an unreasonable fear—he’s going to hurt my child—but then he deftly cuts the umbilical cord, being careful not to so much as graze her skin. In his hand, even something as blood-stained as that sword, can perform an act of as sacred as completing the birth of a new life gracefully.

                And then, _finally,_ he puts her into my more-than-ready arms.

                A laugh of happiness, relief and a thousand other emotions escapes me. “Damn, she’s ugly.”

                “That’s how they all look when they’re born.” Conrad pauses, and there’s something in his voice I can’t quite catch. His gaze is complicated, trained on us through the darkness of the night. “She… looks like you.”

                “Gee, thanks for the compliment.” She’s stopped crying, drifting off into a peaceful sleep. Although I know she’s still far too young to show any real expression, I swear her face looks like she’s smiling. Tenderly, I wipe some of the blood away from her face and hair, noticing that her hair color is a darker shade of mine, still orange but bordering on brown.

                I remember the young king probably waiting anxiously for us back home, and how he always liked the color of my hair, telling me how unique it is, comparing it to the color of the great river at sunset*. Well, too bad, Young Master, but it seems this little girl has inherited some of her daddy’s genes too.

                “You sleep, too,” says the man on my thoughts. “I’ll handle the rest.”

                I nod drowsily, lifting my newborn even closer to my chest. She is, I note with no little pride, fairly heavy for one just a few minutes old, but somehow I just know that I could sleep for days carrying her like this, and my arms would never tire of her weight.

                And besides, even if I do drop her sometime in the night, I’m sure that her father will catch her before she falls.

*

I finally did it. I helped the person I love deliver someone else’s baby.

                Watching them as they sleep, a perfect picture of a mother and child, even I can’t tell for sure what emotions are running through my heart. The girl looks like him, that much is undeniable. But there is someone else in her features, too—someone familiar.

               The look he gave her before he fell asleep will forever be burned into my mind—one of pure love. Joy. Tenderness. The look a mother gives a beloved child. But when he sees her, does he see her father as well?

                I turn my back on them and head out into the darkness.

               He’s lost to me now. I mean, I never expected him to return my feelings. I don’t deserve to. And I should be happy, happy that at least he’ll never be as lonely as I am right now.

                It was easy to swear to protect the child when her life was intertwined with his. But even then, I could only promise to stay by his side until she was born. Even then, I had anticipated some of the turmoil I’m feeling now.

                I feel like an intruder. He knows how I feel, I know he does, and yet he has chosen to pretend otherwise. Maybe it’s for the best. Maybe he’s telling me that he’s chosen the father of his child.

                My feet take me two feet away from the cave before I stop.

                He said he wouldn’t keep her. He said he couldn’t afford to, and he wanted to give her away.

                The tiny spark of hope that rises within me is quashed immediately by fear and self-loathing.

                A bitter laugh escapes my lips as I run my fingers through my hair. I don’t need a mirror to tell me that my expression must look haunted, despairing, perhaps on the brink of insanity. So this is the person I’ve become? Someone who would selfishly, cruelly hope for the abandonment of a child just because she bears the proof of my unrequited love?

                The proof of his relationship with another…

                That’s why I say I don’t deserve his love.

                But what surprises me is the fear that almost – but not quite—threatens to overwhelm my self-hatred. The thought of that beautiful little girl, lost and alone somewhere, far from her mother’s arms, nearly drives me to panic. I tell myself that it’s for Gurrier I fear. He has obviously underestimated the power of maternal love.

                If he leaves her, he will regret it. For the rest of his life.

                And no matter what, things will never go back to the way they were.

                Because of her.

                A rustle from within the cave, a tiny little cough, sets my feet back into motion. Wordlessly, I dive headfirst back into the dark forest, and the deafening silence of the night.

                Someone has to get wood and start a fire before they freeze.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm baaaaack~ There'll be another chapter up shortly, thank you for your patience! *bows*


	15. Inheritance

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When you can't find the words to say it, perhaps a simple action will do the trick.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Funnily enough, the title tallies with Part 2 Chapter 15...

My eyelids feel heavy, and my body even heavier. It’s like the morning after a triathlon, but worse, and at the same time, immeasurably better.

                In comparison, my arms feel light. Someone has taken my baby.

                “Con--”

                My words die away abruptly in my throat when I realize the man cradling my daughter against the side of the wall isn’t her father.

                “How’re you feeling?” asks the youngest prince of Conanshia quietly, never taking his eyes off my sleeping child. “I heard that delivery weakens the mother for at least a few days, but then again I don’t know if it applies to you demon freaks of nature.”

                “You--” I try to get up, but my knees buckle beneath me. Already I can feel myself recovering, adrenaline clearing my brain and reviving my limbs. By my estimate, I’ll be as good as new in a few hours, at most a day. Maybe it had something to do with my Mazoku blood. Maybe it’s because I’m different from the mothers Ian had asked.

                But no matter the reason, my body isn’t strong enough to take him on right now. Not with him holding a glint of silver against my daughter’s neck.

                “I wonder…” His voice is quiet, “If she is as durable as you are?”

                I dig my fingers into the ground, feeling the skin there give as it went head-to-head with unflinching gravel. “What do you want?”

                More importantly, what does he know?

                As though reading my mind, he says, “I know you were up there on the attic last night. One of the soldiers found a strand of your very unique hair. And from the tracks in the dust, I know you weren’t alone.” His face distorts with disgust. “And I also know that you’re not what you claim to be.”

                I force my heart to stop hammering against my ribcage. “Then you’ll know that whatever it is you’re planning to do, it’s not a good idea.”

                He laughs then, so violently I fear for my child. “Oh, that’s where you’re wrong. Even if you are a—man, that won’t make what I’m going to do to you any less satisfying. Quite the opposite, in fact.”

                Relief washes over me like a wave. Oh, so that’s it? My disguise never been found out on my missions before, but I’d take that to the alternative any day.

                Of course, I can’t let that show on my face. Although I put on a brave expression, I let a quiver slip into my lip, and a tremor into my voice as I demand, “W-what do you want from me?”

                “Oh, nothing too bad. I just want you to stay perfectly still and let me do whatever I want with you.” His eyes scan my body hungrily, with something close to fanatic desire. But I see now it isn’t a sexual lust.

                “…You want to torture me pretending I’m one of your brothers.” Wow, that’s a new level of sick.

                “I’m proving that physical strength means nothing,” he snaps. “Nothing!”

                My muscles have gotten me in trouble before, but never quite like this. Honestly, I’m rather impressed. “Great way to go about it, by the way. Ambushing a man the day after he gave birth and holding his kid hostage. Fair and square.”

                I watch him squirm a little at the blatant statement of my ‘freakishness’. Oh, what my king would have to say about this…

                “I’m just using my advantages against theirs,” he raves, pacing the little cave. Disturbed by the motion he’s making, my little one stirs, tiny face scrunched up in annoyance, but doesn’t wake. “I have my own gifts, but unlike them, I know how to use mine to their full potential.”

                He’s not talking about me, I note. This was never about me. “I don’t know, but starting a war doesn’t exactly sound like the best way to highlight your own talents while downplaying theirs.”

                “As I thought, you heard.” His eyes glint with madness. “Then it seems you are as clueless as they are. There will be a war, and one we are destined to lose.”

                The true force of his plans hits me. “You are going to start a war, only to deliberately lose it and thousands of lives in the process, just to humiliate your brothers.”

                “More than that.” His grin is dark despite the rows of gleaming teeth. “Accidents tend to happen in the heat of battle. Not everyone makes it back.”

                Despite the gravity of the situation, I feel surprisingly calm. My roiling emotions quiet down once I take my eyes off the madman and look instead at my baby, still sleeping peacefully. Slowly, carefully, I pull myself onto my feet. “And if you win? If even one of your brothers survives, he will return in glory and unravel all your best-laid plans.”

                “We’ll never win,” he scoffs, both at my suggestion and my efforts. I’m standing, but only barely. The moment I take my hand away from the cave wall, I’ll come crumbling back down to the ground. “The two Shimarons are humanity’s greatest hope, but I have it on good authority that the foolish boy king of Small Shimaron has sided with you demons.” He scowls, eyes narrowed in contempt. “That’s why we shouldn’t leave matters in the hands of ignorant children.”

                “Yeah, because you’re obviously old and cranky.” My expression softens as my daughter clenches and unclenches a tiny fist, fidgeting as though about to wake. “And you’ve never had children.”

                Before he can reply, a majestic figure bursts in, sword flying.

                “Don’t kill him,” I remind the second son, but I’m not sure if he heard me, not when I see the bloody murder in his usually kind eyes.

                “You!” The human prince’s eyes widens as he panics, and predictably, tries to use my baby as a shield. “I know you! You’re from the Shin Ma--”

                Lord Weller doesn’t even let him finish his sentence. In one fluid movement too fast for his eyes to follow, Conrad has my daughter in one hand and his sheathe in the other, deftly knocking the human prince over the head with it.

                There’s a loud crack, and it sure as hell didn’t come from the grade A Mazoku wood.

                “You couldn’t have been a bit gentler,” I complain, slowly making my way over to him and my child while holding on to the walls.

                “Sorry I took so long, there were guards outside.” He easily avoids the question, and my gaze.

                A pause. “You know him?”

                “Maybe, I think I met him at the World’s Best Dancing Competition* a few years ago.” Now that’s one story I haven’t heard.  “Come, we ought to get out of here before--”

                He’s interrupted by a tiny cough, as my little princess finally opens her eyes.

                Now, I’ve noticed the way he looks at my daughter, or at least how he tries not to. Even now, he’s holding her like he’d rather be holding high quality bearbee paint, and I have to remind myself more than once that it’s perfectly understandable. He’s a soldier, after all. It’s natural that he _isn’t_ natural around newborns.

                Though I heard he was perfectly at ease saving our king from a robber when that boy was a baby.

                That’s probably why, when he realizes that my baby was waking, his first impulse is to hand her over to me. But she manages something Prince Ian never stood a chance at—she’s too fast for him.

                Before he can look away, Conrad meets her eyes—brown with flecks of silver.

                I lean back onto the cave wall and savor the way he has frozen into a statue. I can’t even remember why I didn’t want to tell him the truth anymore—maybe I’d meant to, for a long time, but I just kept forgetting, or didn’t know how. Between undercover missions and an eventful pregnancy, there just never seemed to be the right time to say, ‘Hey, guess what? This kid’s yours.”

                I should’ve known that she would solve my problem for me, the same way I knew, just by looking at her peaceful face, that her father was coming and we’d be safe. She had natural born instincts. And honestly, I couldn’t think of a better way to break the news myself. After all, he’s the only other person alive in this world who has those eyes, as far as I know—and really, that’s all that matters, isn’t it? So I let him struggle with the undeniable for a while, trying not to feel too pleased with myself for helping to pass those pretty eyes onto the next generation.

                They really are very beautiful eyes, aren’t they? Lord Dunheely Weller.

                “But—you—we—she—” Conrad eventually finds his voice. The half-Mazoku son who had inherited his father’s swordsmanship, but none of his social skills*, reduced now to choking on his own words.

                “That’s right,” I chuckle. “You’re doing a good job teaching your kid pronouns, Dad.”

                Our daughter curls against his chest, and all the other emotions running across his face at a thousand miles per hour give up the race, leaving only the helpless feeling of overwhelming love that I know all too well.

                They are beautiful eyes, but they’re even more beautiful when they look like that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this is late, there should be another in a few hours~ 
> 
> Also, who would've pegged Conrad for a dancer? xDD That one happened shortly before Yuuri's grand entrance into the Shin Makoku, though it isn't elaborated on much. If you wanna understand the whole joke it's best to read the short story 'Romero and Argent', there's a translation available from otonashi diva, and it's more or less the basis of my Part 4, if I ever get there ;)


	16. Homecoming

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Even for someone who lives for the thrill of travel and adventure, there's still no place quite like home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We're almost to the end, just one more conflict and then the epilogue~

By sunset the same day I feel like I can take on Conanshia’s army single-handedly, but Conrad makes me take it easy for another day and a half.

                “Think of the baby,” he says, looking so decidedly overprotective I agree just so he would drop that face and I wouldn’t have survived childbirth only to die to something as unsightly as laughing.

                Once she turned three days old, though, even he can’t fault her health. She sleeps well, eats well, and already looks four times better than she did when she was born, much to my relief. He just says ‘I told you so’, and points out the way her nose, after it stops looking quite so squashed, is a perfect image of mine. In fact, except for her eyes, she looks exactly like me—only, she can pull off the feminine part without any make-up.

                Truth be told, I’m a little jealous.

                “Got everything packed and ready?”

                I take one more look around my hut. “Yeah—Oh, wait.”

                Phew, I can’t believe I almost forgot about that most cumbersome piece of luggage.

                I pull open the door to the tiny pantry and yank Prince Ian out, bound, gagged and all.

                “Heh, it seems that your brothers care for you as much you do for them. Two days, and they still haven’t saved you.” Credit where credit’s due, it’s not exactly for lack of trying. There are soldiers teeming about, problem was, it’d take more than two days for them to find _my_ hideout. Still, I won’t pass up a chance to sow a seed of discord into enemy ranks.

              “You--!” The middle-aged prince splutters angrily as soon as I rip the tape away from his mouth. “This is provocation! A deliberate act of violence by the Shin Makoku against our country!”

                “Provocation? Well, I’ll admit he was violent, but it’s got nothin’ to do with the country.” I throw my arm around the second son, telling him in the code the two of us shared since childhood: _trust me._ “You know Lord Conrart Weller, he’s the fiancé I was telling you about. See, what really happened was he knocked me up, I got spooked, so I ran and found a job in your kitchens—you could really use some renovation there, by the way-- but then he manages to find me. I try to hide in the attic, no luck, then your little speech there shocked me into labor.”

                My lips are curved, but my eyes are cold. “I wanted to pretend that your suggestion of war was nothing more than a pain-induced dream, but then you attacked me and my newborn. Do you know what this means?”

                All the color has drained out of his face, even before Conrad steps in and delivers the final blow.

                “You know who I am,” Lord Weller says quietly, in a voice he reserves only for deserters and scum who’ve lost all his respect. “With my brother’s marriage to our king, I am essentially a member of the extended royal family. And though I came to your country solely as a man desperate to find his fiancé, I have to remind you that the child you held hostage is my daughter, and His Majesty King Yuuri’s niece.”

                I give a low, appreciative whistle. Never thought Conrad would pull the aristocracy card, though. That was always something the other stuck-up nobles liked to do.

                Anyway, it has the desired effects. Ian clamps up and can only try to murder us with his gazes as we take our own sweet time clearing up and clearing out.

                “Are you sure you don’t want to say goodbye to the girls in the kitchen?” Conrad asks me when we’re almost at the dock, his voice quiet as to not wake the baby in his arms.

                “Nah, it’s best if they don’t know anything.” Besides, it wouldn’t be the first time I had to walk out on ‘friends’ I made on missions. With luck, they’d live out the rest of their short human lives happily, and even if they take the occasional moment to miss poor ol’ ‘Gurie-chan’, it’s still better than knowing they had unwillingly aided an enemy of their country.

                Wordlessly Conrad puts a hand on my arm, as though I need consoling for something. I don’t, but it’s nice to feel his warmth anyway.

                As long as he doesn’t drop our daughter, of course.

 

We arrive home on the child’s seventh day, and I suspect Conrad had something to do with it.

                And we’re immediately greeted by what looks like everyone who’s supposed to be running the country, which I _know_ Conrad had something to do with.

                “Yozak!”

                The young king pounces me as soon as I step off the boat, and nearly throws me back inside.

                “You’re okay…”

                “Yup, that I am.” I ruffle his glossy black hair, smiling in genuine affection in spite of myself. Now, here’s a kid who’s far too easy to love. “Sorry for worrying you, Young Master.”

                “So you made it back in one piece, Gurrier?” The Little Lord—I mean, the Prince Consort descends from a good old-fashioned Mazoku horse carriage. Don’t get me wrong, I like the goats they have over there in the human kingdoms, but that smell got on my nerves after so long. And then he helps a toddler down as well, though the boy not so much steps down as he does jumps onto his mother’s shoulders.

                That’s the new prince, huh. He sure looks mature for a five-month-old.

                The rest of the welcoming party consists of the double black sage, Lord von Voltaire and, to my boss’ eternal suffering, Miss Anissina. His Eminence is the first to speak, returning my complicated gaze with a smile and an outstretched hand. I was the first to swear allegiance to the boy when he arrived in this world, and I liked to think that we had built up a sort of trust during that time in Caloria. That doesn’t change the fact that I did some unforgivable things to him in Seisakoku, but like his king, he is easy to forgive even the unforgivable—anything that you do to him, as long as you don’t touch that one important person.

                Amusement glints behind those glasses now. “I believe some congratulations are in order?”

                “Oh, yeah, the baby!” The king jumps away from me with a yelp, looking around frantically when it becomes pretty clear I’m not carrying the child within me anymore.  “Where’s--”

                I grin, and turn around to show them my daughter, strapped to my back and sleeping peacefully. Come to think of it, she seems to sleep a lot.

                The soft-hearted Young Master’s expression melts at the sight of her, and I feel like an idiot for ever thinking he would judge us. “Can I hold her?”

                “Sure.” Once I pick her up and put him into his welcoming arms, she yawns, stretches a little, and treats him to a classic Weller smile.

                “So it’s true,” Gwendal murmurs, giving his second brother a glare torn between affection and exasperation. The matter-of-fact way he says it kinda ticks me off, though. Why does it seem like everyone was so certain Conrad’s the father from the start? “Gurrier, about the report—”

                “Don’t be so insensitive, Gwen!” Anissina pulls him back by the ponytail, hand on her hip and sighing dramatically. “As expected from the callousness of a man, can’t you see now isn’t the time for official matters? These things can wait until _after_ the child’s naming ceremony.”

                So the tradition is finalized now? The Young Master’s influence never ceases to amaze me, but I believe he’s changing the country for the better.

                “That’s right, what’s her name?” the boy is saying excitedly now, looking nothing the monarch everyone except for him knows will go down in legend.

                “Dunno, we haven’t named her yet,” I say with a shrug, just as the second son suggests softly, “How about youname her, Yuuri?”

                It was something we had discussed, and so when His Majesty points to himself, jaw dropped, I nod with a chuckle.

                “But—But I don’t know anything about—”

                “Trust your instincts,” Conrad assures him, while I say, “Don’t think too hard about it. It’s not like she’s one of those noble heiresses that needs a fancy name.”

                The king is too occupied with his thoughts to notice the glare his godfather gives me then.

                He’s not the only one trying to wrap his head around what’s happening. My superior officer finally manages to lose Lady von Karbelnikoff as she explores the docks for her experimental supplies. The crease in his brow is even deeper than usual, as though he still can’t absorb the idea that he now has a niece as well as a nephew.

                “Now, regarding your reports on Conanshia’s plans and the prince named—”

                “…Julia.”

                “Pardon?”

                The Young Master raises his gaze to meet mine, black eyes shining. “I was thinking… maybe you could name her Julia.”

                Everyone else around us has gone abruptly still, except for him, me, and the baby girl giggling happily in his arms. I wait for him to deflate, like he always used to immediately after his spurts of sudden determination, as though it had taken him all his courage and self-esteem to come up with that suggestion.

               He keeps his gaze resolutely on mine, and I have to smile. As if sensing that something important has been decided, my daughter pinches his cheek and reaches her tiny arms out for me.

                I take her back into my embrace. “I think she likes it. But maybe it’s still a little too fancy for a half-blood bastard like her, so how about we shorten it to Julie instead?”

                I understand where the king is going with this, and I’m surprised to find that I wholly approve, but I want my daughter to grow up as her own person too.

                “…Or perhaps we could call her Juliana?” Conrad speaks up suddenly, unfreezing faster than I expected. “It’s a name worthy of the heir to one of the oldest families in this world, one which had at some point even ruled the humans.”

                His godson’s eyes go wide as he watches us spar back and forth. “Hey, Wolf, since when did Conrad care so much about his bloodline?”

                Lord von Bielefelt sighs exasperatedly, letting go of his son’s hand so the boy can stumble over and admire his new cousin.

                At the end, we decide to meet in the middle and name her Juliann.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Was torn between Julian and Juliann, might still change my mind. Funny how one extra letter makes a huge difference in the way the name looks and is pronounced...
> 
> Also, Julie in Japanese would probably be read as 'Jyuu-ri', and should contain the katakana for 'Yuuri' in it. Never noticed that connection between Suzannah Julia and Yuuri before, heh. And try Googling up the definition for Yozak's last name, it actually means something, lol xD And the meaning (sorta) fits him too~ Ahh, the little details~


	17. Resolution

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> And then there are some things that have to be said to be understood.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Almost at the 500 hits mark, heh~ And the third person POV is hard T^T

“Mama, slow down!”

                Sometimes Lord Wolfram von Bielefelt tended to forget that no matter how brilliant his son’s mind is, the boy’s body still can’t quite keep up with his mother’s graceful long strides.

                “Hurry, they said Gurrier is only stopping by for a while before heading off to his next mission--”

                Though why Yozak would forfeit half of his well-deserved maternity leave is beyond the third son’s understanding.

                A few feet away from Lord von Voltaire’s office, they hear that familiar drawl.

                “…still can’t find anyone to give Julie away to…”

                The words freeze Wolfram’s mind, but his momentum carries him crashing through the door anyway.

                “Wolf…?!” Gwendal has the courtesy to look surprised for a fraction of a second, before rubbing his temple with a sigh. “If you’re looking for His Majesty, he went out on his rounds with Günter a while ago.”

                “No, I—” What he had just heard still ringing in his ears, Wolfram takes a moment to gather his thoughts. Finally, he remembers his original motive. “Gurrier, where’s Julie?”

                Much to Lord Weller’s chagrin, the name that Yozak first suggested is the one that stuck eight months down the road.

                “Hm? I think Conrad took her out for a walk in the gardens--”

                “Yeah-right-thanks!”

               The spy and his superior officer stare after Their Highnesses, who had disappeared as quickly as they had appeared.

                “Thank goodness my kid isn’t so energetic.” Yozak shakes his head, feeling grateful for a moment before noticing the look on his boss’ face. Heh, the man really is weak for anything small and cute. “If you like kids so much, why don’t you have one of your own?”

                “Huh--? Wait, w-what? Who said I—”

 

Eventually Wolfram lost his patience and hoisted his son onto his shoulders, and Shinri’s new vantage point makes him the first to spot their targets.

                “There, Uncle Conrad!”

                The second son is the picture of the perfect father, holding his daughter steady and helping her waddle through the flower bed. Though considering that’s his mother’s precious collection of rare blossoms, perhaps he had decided to sacrifice the position of filial son in exchange for it.

                “Oh, Wolfram, are you looking for me?”

                “Yes—No!” The original plan was for Shinri to make a big deal of liking Julie’s company, so that his father might catch a hint that he wanted a little sister as much as his mother did, but Yosak’s words had clean blown that idea out of Wolfram’s head. “I mean, yes! Whatever, just tell me, did Gurrier ever say anything about giving Julie away?”

                Conrad loses his grip on his daughter’s arms, and doesn’t seem to notice that the girl has started to walk on her own.

                He was so sure—He thought for sure Yosak had given up on that! Though it’s true that his childhood friend still steadfastly refuses to marry him, he has watched the interaction between mother and daughter closely over these past eight months. And he thought that Yosak had finally come to his senses, realized that the ties between flesh and blood aren’t that easily severed.

                _How long ago was it, when he told me he wouldn’t keep the child? Have I asked him about it since then? I thought he changed his mind—No, I had hoped. I had hoped, because I didn’t dare to ask._

“Conrad?”

                Resolutely the second son lifts his daughter from the soil where she was making a right mess of her clothes, and starts marching out of the castle compounds.

                “Hey, where are you going?”

                He considers taking his steed, but Julie is still too young to ride. If he goes at a slow trot to ensure she doesn’t fall off, they’d be faster if he just carried her and walked.

                “Answer me!”

                “…What was the question again?”

               His youngest brother is having a harder time going at this speed, and for a second Conrad wonders about his health. Not that he’d ever mention that out loud—Wolf would flip. But no, he reminds himself that his brother has made a complete recovery, and the only reason he can’t quite keep up is because one-year-old Shinri is considerably heavier than his cousin.

              “Where—are—you— _going_?” Wolfram wheezes for breath. “That’s it, Mari, you’re not getting dessert for a week!”

                “Shinri, not Mari,” the boy says on instinct, sliding down from his mother’s shoulders to hold his hand.

                Julie tugs at Conrad’s hair, whining to be let down as well.

                The blood in his head settling down somewhat thanks to the time-out, Lord Weller looks around and finally takes his bearings. They’re in the forest on the outskirts of the castle, though if they continued this way they’d walk straight into the river.

                It’s a good question: Where _is_ he going?

                “Away,” he mutters to himself. “Somewhere Yosak can’t find.”

                Instead of calling out his stupidity, Wolfram falls silent. The third son knows his brother too well not to understand the things going through Conrad’s mind now. Though he obviously loves his daughter to bits, it’s also glaringly obvious that he still doesn’t think himself worthy of her. The whole fatherhood thing had taken him entirely by surprise, and the mother of his daughter’s adamant refusal to marry him doesn’t help.

                Wolfram sighs. “Snap out of it, Conrad. You’re a great father, and I know Gurrier thinks so too.”

                “Then why didn’t he tell me when he found out he was with child? Why is he still trying to give her away?” Conrad’s smile is one of bitter despair. “He doesn’t think we’re capable of raising her. He doesn’t trust me to.”

                “So you’re going to kidnap your own kid?” Sheesh, when it comes to matters of the heart, his little big brother is hopeless. “You’re just proving him right! Now, what I suggest you do is march right back there, look him in the eye and swear on the risk of disembowelment that you can raise her, and raise her right! She’s not just his child, and you have a say in her wellbeing too. You want to be a good dad? First things first, you have to stand up for yourself, for your rights!”

                 Conrad blinks. Is this really his baby brother, the one who used to follow him everywhere and cried when he couldn’t find Gwendal during hide-and-seek?* “Wolf… you’ve really grown.”

                “Well, I am a mother now, after all.” Ah, there’s his characteristic pride. Even parenthood can’t cure him of that. “Now let’s get Julie back there and—Wait, where is she?”

                A moment of silence. And then the brothers exchange a frantic glance.

                “Julie!”

                “Shinri’s gone too!”

                _Nice going_ , says the small voice at the back of Conrad’s head that isn’t overwhelmed with panic. _Losing your daughter in a forest, perfect way to convince her mother you’re a model dad._

“ _Julie!_ ”

                _“Stop playing around, Shinri!_ ”

                Two of Shin Makoku’s finest warriors run around the trees like headless chickens.

                “See? Mama can call me Shinri after all.”

                There’s a note of mischief in the boy’s childish voice, but Wolfram decides to get annoyed with him later, after the wave of relief wears off. “Where did you go?”

                “Julie and me went to find Papa.”

                Though Wolfram had no idea how his son sensed that his father was nearby, there’s no mistaking the double black youth holding his hand now, smiling at his husband sheepishly. “I was patrolling nearby, and the little tyke just pounced me. Said something about Julie and…”

                “…Mama being an idiot,” declares the little prince. “Uncle Conrad, too. See?” He points a stubby finger towards Julie, perfectly comfortable in her mother’s arms. Her mother, who had obviously dropped everything and ran full-speed here as soon as he found out that Conrad had kidnapped their daughter.

                “Julie’s mama loves Julie.” The one-year-old says matter-of-factly, as though incredulous that the supposedly sensible adults couldn’t see the blatantly obvious truth. “Just like Mama loves Shinri.”

                “Yozak…”

                The orange-haired man holds out a hand to silence his fiancé, the one that isn’t holding his daughter tightly to his chest. “Y’know, Cap, I never thought there’d be the day I’d agree with an infant. You _are_ an idiot.” He tilts his head respectfully at Wolfram. “No offense to you, though, Highness. I’m sure you were just caught up in his madness.”

                “Madness!” Conrad splutters, finally losing his temper. “He overheard you trying to give our daughter away!”

                “For a month,” Yosak continues in the tone of a patient teacher explaining something to a particularly dense child. “Unless you’d rather me take me with her on my mission? Hmm, come to think of it, that might not be such a bad—”

                “Hold on there, Gurrier,” Yuuri hastily stops that dangerous train of thought. “If it’s only for a month, why can’t you just let Conrad take care of her?”

                “Aw, Your Majesty, I appreciate the effort, but I can’t possibly burden—”

                “What do you mean, burden? She’s my child too!”

                “Yes, but can you watch her twenty-four seven? You have duties, Cap, unless you’re going to keep her strapped onto your back during sword practice—”

                “I-I’ll find a way!” Conrad takes a deep breath, and, following his brother’s advice, takes Yozak by the shoulders, staring into his eyes. “Look, Gurrier, I know you don’t have a lot of confidence in me—Heck, I don’t have confidence in myself. But please, just let me try? After all, I’m still Julie’s—”

                “…Papa!”

                A common word, but spoken in a new voice, freezes everyone on the spot.

                Slowly, Conrad and Yosak look from their daughter, to each other, then back to her.

                “Did she just--?”

                “I think she did…”

                Delighted by all the attention she’s getting, little Julie claps her tiny hands together and giggles happily. “Papa!”

                Conrad’s expression of ecstasy says that her first little word has gotten rid of the self-doubt that everyone else spent months trying to coax out of him—at least for now.

                “That’s right, Julie, I’m your Papa! C’mere, come to Papa!”

                Yuuri takes a moment to admire how Lord Weller can make even baby talk sound mature and reassuring.

                Unfortunately, Conrad’s famous gentlemanly appeal seems to apply to everyone except the two that matter most, because his daughter promptly turns away from him and holds her arms out to her mother.

                “Papa!”

                “No, baby girl,” Yozak chuckles in his deep jazzy voice. “I’m your Mama. Call me Mama.”

                “Papa!”

                Twin glares of jealousy pierce into the happy mother-daughter duo’s backs, but both remain blissfully immune. Ignoring his miserable brother, Wolfram approaches his husband with false casualness.

                “Cute, isn’t she?”

                “Uh-huh… So cute…”

                “Makes you want to have another daughter, doesn’t it?”

                “Yeah, sure… Wait, what?!”

                That’s when Wolfram decides that he doesn’t mind babysitting another toddler for a month. She is his niece, after all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Because Conrad is and always will be depressed and depressing. It kinda felt like if I didn't give him another angsty moment it'd be out of character...


	18. Epilogue: Like Father Like Daughter

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What was it they said, that opposites attract?
> 
> Then maybe, the only reason you keep miss(understand)ing each other, is because you're too similar.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yuuri's POV~ 
> 
> ...is really much easier to write.

My godfather is even more depressed than usual. And when I ask him about it, he flashes me one of his brightest smiles yet.

                Which is all the proof I need, really.

                “…Do I really smile more the more upset I get?”

                “Only when you’re trying to hide it,” I console him, patting his shoulder. “And if you can still try to hide it, that means no one’s dying.” Then, as an afterthought, “--yet.”

                “…That’s not very comforting.” But he laughs anyway, looking a little lighter already. The truth is, we haven’t gotten into too many life-or-death situations these past few years, and definitely fewer mental-breakdown-existentialistic-crisis moments, mostly just physical-harm-almost-inciting-another-world-war kind of things.

                …I don’t know if I should be upset or pleased that bodily harm and diplomatic conflicts are now part of my daily norm.

                Anyway, I digress. What I meant to say is that there’s less reason for Lord Weller to mope these days, so I figured it had to be one of two things—no, one of two people.

                I choose the likelier one.

                “Julie?”

                The second son’s shoulders sag. “She won’t call me Papa anymore.”

                Considering how long it took him to get her to call him that in the first place, no wonder he’s feeling a bit messed up.

                “She started calling you Mother again?” There was that time someone tried to explain to her that the mother in the family is usually the gentler, more passive one – a statement that got the poor man targeted by both Wolf and Anissina—and unfortunately Julie was in a rather impressionable age then. The idea stuck with her for years.

                “No.” Conrad shakes his head, looking as though he wishes that were the case. “She’s calling me by my name.”

                “Like, ‘Hey, Conrad!’?” I blink a little, trying to imagine my goddaughter—godsister? niece? these things are getting out of hand—addressing her father by name. Even after all these years, after (finally) coming to understand my country and my people as well as a good king should, I still can’t shake off some of the traditional Japanese values I was raised with. Not that I want to, of course. I still have to report home at least once every week, even if a week there might equal to a month here.

                Sometimes I feel almost guilty. I have no right to control the flow of time on both sides as I see fit, just because I can.

                “Worse than that,” Conrad sighs deeply, snapping me out of my thoughts. “She calls me Lord Weller.”

                I actually wince at that. “Ouch.”

                It’s obvious to everyone that Conrad desperately wants to get closer to his fiancé and daughter, just as obvious as how keen they are on staying away. Josak I understand—he told me about the way  being married ‘changes you’, and men can smell the difference a mile away, even if you don’t wear the ring or anything, so it could drastically affect his job and his disguise and maybe even his life…

                Even though I know he’s probably exaggerating a good half of all that, by the time he started describing in vivid detail what some hoodlums might do to a married crossdresser, all I could do was nod and swear to never nag him about it again.

                He’s tough to pin down, that Gurrier. And Conrad knew that from the start.

                But Julie…

                “I thought she’s being really nice to you these days?”

                “She’s nice to everyone.” Conrad buries his face inside one large hand. “And _especially_ nice to me.”

                Ah, I know how that feels. Like when Shinri was all formal with me, and I had to make weird faces at him for an entire night before I had to verbally convince him that I _liked_ casualness. Serious words and a solemn expression had worked infinitely better than all that visual stimulation crap they were talking about in the parenting book Mom got me. And the kid was two at the time.

                “Maybe she acts distant because she respects you?” I venture.

                “She respects everyone else, too. And she still calls Wolf and Gwen uncle, just--”

                I fidget a little guiltily. Guess I shouldn’t mention that she once told me she will always think of them as her uncles because they’re her godfather’s husband and brother-in-law respectively. Though maybe he caught on during that month or so back in elementary school when she addressed him as ‘Uncle Conrad’.

                As confusing and hurtful as that was, it doesn’t hold a candle to what’s happening now.

                I grasp Conrad’s arm reassuringly. “Don’t worry, all little girls start drifting away from their daddies at a certain age. Why, I think I was about her age when my Dad started complaining that I’m distancing myself from him with tears in his eyes… Maybe it applies to little boys too?”

                His gaze is wistful and slightly accusing. “But you didn’t have that problem with Greta, and the other two are still all over you.”

                “Uh…” I want to say that’s because Wolfram has done a great job teaching our kids discipline, but that would suggest that he and Gurrier are abject failures at parenting. “You know what, I’ll ask her. Sometimes these things just need a fresh perspective, or at least a different listening ear.”

                After all, we’ve all had those things we can tell everyone –friends, siblings, and in Gwen’s case, the kitty he just met on the road—except for our parents. All three of Madam Cheri’s kids understand that better than anyone else.

                Conrad shudders a little, maybe remembering exactly which matters he could never his mother with, then he gives me a weak but grateful smile. “Guess I’ll be bothering you then.”

                “Leave it to me!”

 

…I said with such confidence, but now that I’ve accepted the mission I’ve no idea how to actually go about it.

                Finding Julie is the easy part. Whenever she’s not out with Yozak on mission, she hangs around the stables and the training ground here in Covenant Castle. Though, as my goddaughter and my predecessor’s granddaughter, she’s more or less half a princess herself, she steadfastly refuses to admit that herself, and doesn’t answer to ‘Your Highness’ either.

                She’s only here as an apprentice soldier, she says solemnly to everyone who tries. So after some more confusion everyone came to an agreement and her title is now ‘Miss Julie’, nothing more, nothing less.

                In other words, she’s a really down-to-earth girl who wants nothing to do with her noble bloodline, much to her father’s chagrin.

                “Godfather!” As usual she’s working up a storm with her sword in the field, her face lighting up into a classic Weller smile when she sees me. She’s fifteen now, turning sixteen next year, but though her features look more and more like her mother with every passing day, her mannerism is exactly like her father’s.

                Unfortunately, the two of them are the only ones who don’t notice it. What was the saying again? You can’t see the mountain because you’re standing on the mountain? Something like that.

                “Hey, Jules.” I give her a brief but tight embrace, marveling at how much she’s grown. When I was fifteen, I won the lottery prize consisting of phenomenal cosmic powers and an entire foreign country to run. And though she looks smaller than I was, she’s still considerably matured compared to Mazoku children of the same age.

                We were worried that she might be scorned for that, just like her father was when he physically grew up faster than even his older brother as a child*, but the unlikely solution to that problem came in the form of her cousin, my son. I’d long since stopped trying to figure out what’s going on with Shinri’s soul, because whatever it is, he’s still first and foremost my kid, and nothing else matters, really. That’s why I don’t question why his body grows almost pace to pace with his half-Mazoku cousin, making the difference between him and his younger sister look like a lot more than just three years.

                Ahh, but he looks so big now too… Should I start brushing off that tea set Murata gave me? In no time at all I’ll be sipping tea on a futon and lamenting how fast time flies, like a proper old man.

                Even though I will always be 67 years younger than my husband and at least a century younger than basically everyone else.

                “Did you come here to practice with me?” Julie asks eagerly. She’s inherited her father and grandfather’s talent for swordfighting. Put that together with her mother’s uncanny ability to adapt, and we got ourselves a real survivalist. As in, you can toss her into any forest for a few months and come back to find her even more toned and fit than when you left her.

                Thankfully she hadn’t inherited her mother’s muscles, though.

                “I’m no match for you,” I admit honestly, then sensing a chance, I continue hastily with, “Why don’t you ask your dad? He should be free today.”

                Something else she didn’t get from Gurrier—acting skills. Her gaze wanders away from mine. “I wouldn’t want to burden Lord Weller with something as trivial as a child’s whims.”

                So it’s true. “He’s your dad, that’s what dads do. If he heard you say that, he’d be really hurt, y’know?”

                “Well, he shouldn’t be. A soldier can’t let such small matters get to him.”

                Ouch again. But I really don’t get it-- why is this girl so harsh when it comes to her father?

                “Julie… Did someone say something to you?”

                If I weren’t so upset for Conrad’s sake, I’d probably think something along the lines of, ‘Phew, thank goodness for naturally bad actors’.

                “N-nothing.”

                “Julie…” Maybe I could throw her one of those epic lines emperors get to use in those periodic dramas –‘lying to your king is a capital offense, off with your head!’—but knowing my goddaughter, she might just take it seriously. So I use my other weapon instead.

                “…Okay, okay, I’ll tell, stop looking at me like that!”

                I was wrong, the puppy-dog look works on kids that act like geezers too, and not just actual geezers*!

                For a long while she tries to find the words, and I exercise my well-trained patience. Eventually she takes a deep breath, saying in a voice almost too small to hear, “When I call him Papa, or Father… people will know.”

                “Know what?”

                “That I’m his daughter.”

                “Well, that’s because you _are—”_

                “His _illegitimate_ daughter.”

                …Now, who taught her that word? Come on, don’t be shy, stand out here and admit it!

                “No one actually said it to my face.” She senses my growing agitation and hurries to calm me down. “Really, Godfather, they’re all nice people, who won’t judge me for something I can’t control. But--” She bites her lip. “—They’ll judge him.”

                Ah. So that’s why.

                “The people here understand, of course, but strangers… visitors and guests… they talk. I don’t blame them, they’re just curious. But then they form an opinion of him before they even meet him and know what kind of man he really is, which isn’t true or fair, and all because of me...”

                “And what kind of man is he?”

                I cup her face in my hands, thumbing away the tears in the corners of her eyes.

                “H-he’s…”

                “He’s your father, and you can’t hide that no matter what you try to call him.”

                Then I step aside, and let Conrad do the rest.

                Watching them from afar now,  I chuckle to myself. The two of them are really too similar. Both too kind, too gentle for their own good.

                No wonder Yozak has both of them wrapped around his little finger.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *The aforementioned geezer is Gunter. Of course. 
> 
> So that's the end of Part 3! Thanks to everyone who's read, subscribed, bookmarked, commented, kudo'ed, basically everyone who gave the story even a wayward thought. Though it got a little stressful at times, I enjoyed writing it as much as you enjoyed reading it, heh~
> 
> Quick info, I do have a Part 4 planned, but it's much, much shorter than the previous parts (around three chapters?) and perhaps a Part 5 to touch on everyone. However, I really have to get back to real life now, holidays are almost over TT^TT So I won't be posting new material daily anymore, mostly putting up some old fics and that novel I always wanted people to read...
> 
> Ahem, anyway, thanks again for everything and see you again sometime soon (I hope)!

**Author's Note:**

> Most of Part 3 will be from Yozak's point of view, my favorite character after Wolf and Yuuri~ If you saw the novel translations I did, you'll see that he's actually a very practical guy with strong self-preservation tendencies, to the point where he might come off as distant and cold. Hmm... now that I think about it, I can't really remember any times when he was emotionally vulnerable...
> 
> In other words, he's a wonderfully twisted character to write about xD


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